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BEADLE1T  i 


% 

^^m 


Song  Book 

USTo.  lO. 

JL  COLLECTION  OP  NEW  AND  POPFLAB 

COMIC  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


i 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON" : 
Beadle  and  Company,  118  William  St.,  N.  Y 

44  PATERNOSTER  ROW,  LONDON. 


'£ 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE. 

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•ongs  in  Beadle's  Dims  Song  Books,  can  be  obtained  of,  or 
ordered  through,  any  regular  News  or  Periodical  dealer ;  or 
by  forwarding  twenty-five  cents,  direct  to  the  publishers, 
whose  names  and  address  are  attached  to  many  of  the  pieces, 
the  music  will  be  sent  by  mail,  post-paid. 

Beadle  and  Company. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1S63, 

By  BEADLE  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 

for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


(S.  B.  10.) 


CONTENTS. 


Alabama  Joe, 56 

All  round  my  hat,   -        -        •-        -        •        -15 

Answer  of  Ben  Bolt,  -        ....        -    •    -  53 
Away  down  east,   -        -        -        ...        -14 

Away  goes  Cuffee,       -        -                 •        -        -  10 

Battle-cry  of  Freedom, 18 

Beggar  girl,         -.-        -        -     "    -        -        -  33 

Billie  Boy,      -        - .      -        -        -        -        *        -  62 

Bingen  on  the  Rhine,  ------  48 

Bonnie  blue  flag,     -------44 

Bring  my  brother  back  to  me,    -        -        -        •  -21 

Buy  a  broom,          -------  61 

Call  me  not  back  from  the  eeholess  shore,           -  47 

Come  back,  massa,  come  back,       -        -        -        -  19 

Come,  oh,  come  with  me,   -----  41 

Dear  mother,  Tve  come  home  to  die,     -        -        -  11 

Fannie  Grey, 22 

Gaffer  Grey, 32 

Gentle  Annie  Ray, 28 

High  Daddie,          -        -        -        -    •   .        .        -  20 

How  are  vou,  conscripts  ?--.-.  7 

I  dreamed  my  boy  was  home  again,       •        •        -  17 

I  know  a  pair  of  hazel  eyes,  46 

I  know  my  mother  weeps  for  me,          •        -        -  51 

I  love  the  merry  sunshine,  -----  57 

I'll  tell  nobody, 60 

I'm  coming  home  to  die,  28 

I  muse  on  thee,       -------  6 

In  the  wild  chamois'  track,         ....  64 

Jennie  June, --54 

Jessie,  the  flower  of  Dumblane,  46 

Katie  Bell, 58 

Keep  this  Bible  near  your  heart,        ...  38 

Kiss  me,  darling,  ere  we  sever,       -        -        -        -  53 


CONTENTS. 


Lanigan's  ball, -        -  12 

Larry's  good-bye, 60 

Long,  long  ago,  -        -        -        -        -        -        -  16 

Love  me  little,  love  me  long,          -        -        -        -  57 

Make  me  no  gaudy  chaplet,  59 

Mister  Hill,  pray  be  still, 37 

Miseries  of  sneezing, 43 

Mother  would  comfort  me, 42 

Murmuring  sea,  -------45 

My  Emma  Louise,           -        -        •                -  9 

Nigger,  put  down  dat  jug,  -                ...  35 

Oh,  I  shall  wear  a  uniform,                     ^        -        -  58 

Oh,  sing  to  me  those  dear  old  songs,  24 

Rally  round  the  flag,  boys,    -        -        -        -        -  25 

Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep,  64 

Roses  lie  along  the  way, 30 

Stars  and  stripes, 25 

Stop  dat  knocking -  40 

Sunny  hours  of  childhood, 39 

Switzer's  song  of  home,          .....  41 

Tell  mother  I  die  happy, 55 

Things  that  never  die,    -        -        -        -     .  -        -63 

Weeping  sad  and  lonely,    -        -        -        -  •   8 

Werry  pekooliar, 36 

"We  will  not  retreat  any  more,    •        •                -  34 

Wouldn't  you  lika  to  know  ?          -        -        -        -  31 

When  this  cruel  war  is  over,      •        -    .    -        -  8 

Who'll  care  for  mother  now  ?         •   •    -        -  5 

Why  do  I  weep  for  thee  ? 27 

Will  he  never  come?      -•••..  26 


BEADLE'S 

DIME  SONG  BOOK  No.  10. 


Who  will  Care  for  Mother  now  ? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Sawyer  &  Thompson,  Music  Publishers 
59  Fulton  avenue,  Brooklyn,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Why  am  I  so  weak  and  weary, 

See  bow  faint  my  heated  breath, 
All  around  to  me  seems  darkness, 

Tell  me,  comrades,  is  this  death  ? 
Ah  !  now  well  I  know  your  answer  ; 

To  my  fate  I'll  meekly  bow, 
If  you'll  only  tell  me  truly, 

Who  will  care  for  mother  now? 
Chorus — Soon  with  angels  I'll  be  marching, 
With  bright  laurels  on  my  brow, 
I  have  for  my  country  fallen, 

Who  will  care  for  mother  now  ? 

Who  will  comfort  her  in  sorrow, 

Who  will  dry  the  falling  tear, 
Gently  smooth  her  wrinkled  forehead, 

Who  will  whisper  words  of  cheer  ? 
Even  now  I  think  I  see  her 

Kneeling  praying  for  me,  luw 
Can  I  leave  her  in  her  anguish, 

Who  will  care  for  mother  now  ?  (Chorus.) 


Let  this  knapsack  be  my  pillow, 

And  my  mantle  be  the  sky, 
Hasten,  comrades,  to  the  battle, 

I  will  like  a  soldier  die. 
Soon  with  angels  I'll  be  marching, 

With  bright  laurels  on  my  brow, 
I  have  for  my  country  fallen, 

Who  will  care  for  mother  now  ?  (Chobus.) 


I  Muse  on  Thee. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Sox  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
503  Broadway,  N.  T.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  muse  on  thee  when  morning  springs 

Upon  the  purple  hills, 
Or  when  the  summer  twilight  brings 

The  music  of  the  rills. 
And  thou  art  present  in  my  dream, 

Though  sundered  from  me  far, 
Till  fades  away  the  weary  beam 

Of  evening  sentry  star. 


I  scarcely  tell  my  soul  the  tale, 

That  I  have  dared  to  love, 
I  trust  it  not  upon  the  gale, 

Nor  breathe  it  to  the  grove. 
Yet  comest  thou  ever  in  the  dream, 

Where  holier  musings  are, 
Till  prayer  and  praise  to  heaven  but  teem 

To  seek  love  brighter  star. 


How  are  you,  Conscripts? 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  T.  Gordon,  Music  Publisher,  £3S 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 
The  wheel  is  turning  round,  boys, 

Hurrah,  now,  for  the  jam; 
How  are  you,  conscripts  ? — hurry  up ! 

To  fight  for  Uncle  Sam  : 
Come  up,  Bob,  don't  stand  there,  shaking, 

Take  your  musket,  shoulder  arms ! 
Stand  in  line  with  Larry  Brady, 
Who  now  cares  for  war's  alarms  ? 
Chobus — How  are  you,  conscripts  ?  ha !  ha ! 
On  with  the  draft,  hurrah ! 
How  are  you,  conscripts,  ha !  ha !  ha ! 
On  with  the  draft,  hurrah !  hurrah  I 

Hark,  the  drum  is  rolling, 

The  rebs  you  soon  will  see, 
And  pop  them  off  like  pigeons, 

What  glorious  fun  'twill  be! 
Put  away  that  dirty  wiper, 

What  a  time  to  pipe  your  eye ! 
Hold  your  head  up,  courage,  conscript, 

Soldiers  never  fear  to  die !  (Chobus.) 

•    Shoulder  arms,  now,  conscripts — 

Blackguard,  what's  your  name  ? 
Terence  Darby — blood  an'  'ouns ! 

How  Paddy  jumps  for  fame ! 
Frenchmen,  Scotchmen,  all  press  forward  I 

Oh,  mein  got !  here  mynheer  comes ! 
Blow  the  bugle,  split  the  trumpet, 

Shout  hosannas !  pelt  the  drums !       (Cho.) 


When  this  Cruel  War  is  Over. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Sawter  &  Thompson,  Music  Publishers 
59  Fulton  avenue,  Brooklyn,  owners  of  tho  copyright. 

Dearest  love,  do  you  remember 

When  we  last  did  meet, 
When  you  told  me  that  }^ou  loved  me 

Kneeling  at  my  feet  ? 
Oh,  how  proud  you  stood  before  me, 

In  your  suit  of  blue, 
When  you  vowed  to  me  and  countrj 
Ever  to  be  true. 
Chorus — Weeping,  sad  and  lonely, 

Hopes  and  fears  how  vain  ; 
Yet  praying,  when  this  cruel  war  is  over, 
Praying  that  we  meet  again. 

When  the  summer  breeze  is  sighing 

Mournfully  along, 
Or,  when  autumn  leaves  are  falling, 

Sadly  breathes  the  song. 
Oft,  in  dreams  I  see  thee  lying 

On  the  battle-plain, 
Lonely,  wounded,  even  dying, 

Calling  but  in  vain.  (Chorus.) 

If,  amid  the  din  of  battle,  • 

Nobly  you  should  fall 
Far  away  from  those  who  love  you, 

None  to  hear  you  call ; 
Who  would  whisper  words  of  comfort  ? 

Who  would  soothe  your  pain  ? 
Ah  !  the  many  cruel  fancies 

Ever  in  my  brain.  (Chorus,) 


But  our  country  called  you,  darling, 

Angels  cheer  your  way  ; 
While  our  nation's  sons  are  fighting, 

We  can  only  pray. 
Nobly  strike  for  God  and  Liberty, 

Let  all  nations  see 
How  we  love  our  starry  banner, 

Emblem  of  the  free.  (Chorus.) 


My  Emma  Louise. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Sawter  &  Thompson,Music  Publishers, 
59  i  ulton  avenue,  Brooklyn,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

You  may  talk  of  your  beauties  with  eyes  so  bewitching, 

Of  forms  that  are  faultless  and  cheeks  like  the  rose, 
You  may  speak  of  sly  glances  that  keeps  one's  heart 
twitching, 

It's  all  very  well  just  as  far  as  it  goes ; 
You  may  tell  me  of  voices  that  sound  like  the  ringing 

Of  "  silvery  bells,"  just  as  much  a3  you  please  ; 
But  yet  I  am  sure  none  could  be  half  so  winning 

As  my  little  darling,  my  Emma  Louise. 

CHORUS. 

My  Emma  Louise,  my  own  little  darling, 

There  is  none  to  compare  with  my  Emma  Louise. 

Though  others  may  boast  of  their  beautiful  faces, 

Such  delicate  hands,  and  small,  fairy-like  feet, 
Just  compare  them  to  any  or  all  of  the  graces, 

But  none  with  my  darling  can  ever  compete ; 
Though  Venus,  they  say,  was  in  all  things  perfection, 

It  all  may  be  true,  yet  I  ne'er  will  believe 
That  even  the  angels,  upon  close  inspection, 

Could  be  half  so  sweet  as  my  Emma  Louise. 


10 


Away  Goes  Cuffee. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher* 
377  W  aehington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Abram  Linkon  las'  September, 
Told  de  Souf  'less  you  surrender 
Afore  de  las'  of  next  December, 
Away  goes  Cuffee. 
For  de  cannon  may  boom  when  dey  fight  a  big  battle, 
But  de  darkey's  no  more  as  de*  sheep  and  de  cattle, 
For  freedom's  watchman  has  sprung  his  rattle, 
Hooray  for  sixty- three. 

De  Souf  deyrs  mad  at  Norf's  invasion, 
Said  Abe  Liukon's  proclamation, 
Don't  go  down  in  darkey  nation, 

Nor  way  goes  Cuffee.       (Chorus.) 

Dar's  France,  she  favors  mediation, 
England  scorns  dis  rival  nation, 
And  wants  to  see  a  separation, 

Away  goes  Cuffee.  (Chorus.) 

But  Abe  sustains  his  trying  station, 
Says  to  France  and  English  nation, 
Just  stand  back  wid  mediation, 

Away  goes  Cuffee.  (Chorus.} 

De  Yankee  soldiers  shout  hosanna, 
While  dey  wave  de  spangled  banner, 
Bound  for  Charleston  and  Savannah, 

Away  goes  Cuffee.  (Chorus.) 

Richmond's  wails  old  Joe  will  batlv, 
How  de  rebels  den  will  scatter, 
Hang  Jeff  D.  and  end  dis  matter, 

Away  goes  Cuffee.  (Chorus.) 


11 


Dear  Mother,  I've  Come  Home  to  Die. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
661  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Dear  mother,  I  remember  well 

The  parting  kiss  you  gave  to  me, 
When  merry  rang  the  village-bell, 

My  heart  was  full  of  joy  and  glee. 
I  did  not  dream  that  one  short  year 

Would  crush  the  hopes  that  soared  bo  high  ; 
Oh,  mother  dear,  draw  near  to  me, 
Dear  mother,  I've  come  home  to  die. 
Chortjs — Call  sister,  brother,  to  my  side, 

And  take  your  soldier's  last  good-by  ; 
Oh,  mother  dear,  draw  near  to  me, 
Dear  mother,  I've  come  home  to  die. 

Hark,  mother,  'tis  the  village-bell, 

I  can  no  longer  with  thee  stay ; 
My  country  calls — "  To  arms  1  to  arms  I" 

The  foe  advance  in  fierce  arra}\ 
The  vision's  past — I  feel  that  now 

For  country  I  can  only  sigh ; 
Oh,  mother  dear,  draw  near  to  me, 

Dear  mother,  I've  come  home  to  die. 

Dear  mother,  sister,  brother,  all, 

One  parting  kiss— to  all  good-by ; 
Weep  not,  but  clasp  your  hand  in  mine, 

And  let  me  like  a  soldier  die. 
I've  met  the  foe  upon  the  field, 

Where  kindred  fiercely  did  defy ; 
I  fought  for  right — God  bless  the  flag ! 

Dear  mother,  I've  come  home  to  di«. 


12 


Lanigan's  Ball. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publiihers, 
547  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

In  the  town  of  Athol  lived  one  Jimmy  Lanigan, 

He  bather'd  away  till  lie  hadn't  a  pound ; 
His  father  he  died  and  made  him  a  man  again, 

Left  him  a  farm  of  ten  acres  of  ground ; 
He  gave  a  large  party  to  all  his  relations, 

That  stood  beside  him  when  he  went  to  the  wallj 
So  if  you  but  listen,  I'll  make  your  eyes  glisten, 
With  the  rows  and  the  ruptions  at  Lanigan's  balL 
Chokds— Whack,  fal  la!,  fal  lal,  tal  ladedy, 
Whack,  fal  lal,  fal  lal,  tal  ladedy, 
Whack,  fal  lal,  fal  lal,  tal  ladedy, 
Whack,  hurroo,  for  Lanigan's  ball. 

'Twas  meself  had  free  invitations 

For  all  the  boys  and  girls  I  might  ask ; 
In  less  than  five  minutes  I'd  frinds  and  relations, 

Singing  as  merry  as  flies  round  a  cask ; 
Kitty  O'Harra,  a  nate  little  milliner, 

Tipt  me  the  wink,  and  ask'd  me  to  call, 
Whin  I  arrived  with  Timothy  Galligan, 

Just  in  time  for  Lanigan's  ball.  (Chorus.^ 

Whin  we  got  there  they  were  dancing  the  polka, 

All  round  the  room  in  a  quare  whirligig ; 
But  Kitty  and  I  put  a  stop  to  this  nonsinse, 

We  tipt  them  a  taste  of  a  nate  Irish  jig; 
Oh,  Mavrone,  wasn't  she  proud  of  me, 

We  bather'd  the  flure  till  the  ceiling  did  fall, 
For  I  spent  three  weeks  at  Brooks'  academy, 

Laming  a  step  for  Jjanigans  ball.         (Chobus.^ 


13 


The  boys  were  all  merry,  the  girls  were  frisky, 

Drinking  together  in  couples  and  groups, 
Whin  an  accidint  happened  to  Paddy  O'Rafferty, 

He  stuck  his  right  fit  t  through  Miss  Flanigan*s  hoops ; 
The  craythur  she  fainted,  and  roared  "millia  niurther!" 

Called  for  her  frinds,  and  gathered  thira  all ; 
Tim  Dermody  swore  that  he'd  go  no  further, 

But  have  satisfaction  at  Lanigan's  ball.  (Cho's.) 

Och,  arrah,  boys,  but  thin  was  the  ruptions, 

Meself  got  a  wollop  from  Phelim  McCoo, 
Soon  I  replied  to  his  nate  introduction, 

And  we  kicked  up  the  divil's  own  phililaloo ; 
Casey  the  piper,  he  was  nearly  strangled, 

They  squeezed  up  his  bags,  chaunters  and  all ; 
The  girls  in  their  ribbons  all  got  entangled, 

And  that  put  a  stop  to  Lanigan's  ball.    (Cho's.) 

In  the  midst  of  the  row  Miss  Kayanah  fainted, 

Her  face  all  the  while  was  as  red  as  the  rose ; 
The  ladies  declared  her  cheeks  they  were  painted, 

But  she'd  taken  a  drop  too  much  I  suppose ; 
Paddy  Macaty,  so  hearty  and  able, 

When  he  saw  his  dear  colleen  stretched  out  in  the  hall, 
He  pulled  the  best  leg  out  from  under  the  table, 

And  broke  all  the  chaney  at  Lanigan's  balk 

CHORUS. 

Whack,  fal  lal,  fal  lal,  tal  ladedy, 
Whack,  fal  lal,  fal  lal,  tal  ladedy, 
Whack,  Ail  lal,  fal  lal,  tal  ladedy, 
Whack,  hurroo,  for  Lanigan's  balL 


Away  down  East. 

There's  a  famous  fabled  country,  never  seen  by  mortal  eyes, 
Where  the  pumpkins  they  are  growing,  and  the  sun  is  sa»d 

to  rise ; 
Which  man  doth  not  inhabit,  neither  reptile  bird  nor  beast ; 
And  this  famous  fabled  country  is  away  down  east. 

It's  called  the  land  of  notions,  of  apple-sauce  and  greens, 
A  paradise  of  pumpkin  pies,  and  the  land  of  pork  and  beans ; 
But  where  it  is,  who  knoweth  ?  neither  mortal  man  nor  beast ; 
But  one  thing  we're  assured  of,  'tis  away  down  east. 

Once  a  man  in  Indiana  took  his  bundle  in  his  hand, 
And  he  came  to  New  York  city  to  seek  this  fabled  land ; 
But  how  he  stares  on  learning,  what  is  new  to  him  at  least, 
That  this  famous  fabled  country  is  farther  down  east. 

Then  off  he  goes  to  Boston,  with  all  his  main  and  might, 
He  puts  up  at  the  Tremont  House,  quite  sure  that  all  is  right ; 
But  they  tell  him  in  the  morning,  a  curious  fact  at  least, 
That  he  hadn't  yet  begun  to  get  away  down  east. 

Then  he  hurries  off  to  Portland  with  his  bundle  in  his  hand, 
And  he  sees  Mount  Joy,  great  joy  for  him,  for  this  must  be 

the  land; 
Pooh!  nonsense,  man,  you're  crazy,  for  doubt  not  in  the  le/ist, 
You'll  go  a  long  chalk  farther,  ere  you  fiud  down  east. 

Then  away  through  mud  to  Bangor,  by  which  he  soils  his  drabs, 
The  first  that  greets  his  vision  is  a  pyramid  of  slabs; 
Why  this,  says  he,  is  Egypt,  here's  a  a  pyramid  at  least, 
And  he  thought  that  with  a  vengeance  he  had  found  down  east. 

My  gracious !  yes,  he's  found  it ;  see  how  he  cuts  his  pranks ; 
He's  sure  he  can't  get  further  for  the  piles  of  boards  and  planks ; 
So  pompously  he  questions  a  Pat  of  humble  caste, 
Who  tells  him  he  hasn't  begun  to  get  away  down  east. 

Then  he  meets  a  native,  who's  up  to  snuff,  I  ween, 
Says  he,  pointing  to  a  precipice,  don't  you  see  something'green 
So  off  he  jumped  to  rise  no  more,  except  he  lives  on  yeast; 
And  that's  what  they  drink,  I  think,  away  down  east. 

And  now  his  anxious  mother,  who's  race  is  almost  run, 

Is  ever  on  the  look-out  to  see  her  rising  son ; 

But  whether  she'll  see  him  or  no,  I  calculate  at  lea#t, 

Her  son  is  set  in  regions  wet,  ai*ay  down  tad. 


All  Round  my  Hat, 

All  round  my  hat  I  vears  a  green  villow, 

All  round  my  hat  for  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day; 
If  hany  one  should  hax  the  reason  vy  I  vear§  it, 

Tell  them  that  my  true  love  is  far,  far  away. 
'Twas  a-going  of  my  rounds  in  the  street  I  first  did  meet  her, 

I  thought  she  vos  a  hangel  just  come  down  from  the  sky ; 
Spoken — (She'd  a  nice  vegetable  countenance.) 
And  I  never  heard  a  voice  more  louder  and  more  sweeter, 

When  crying,"Buy  mv  primroses,my  primroses  come  buy." 
Spoken— (Here's  your  fine  colliflowers.) 

Chorus — All  round  my  hat,  etc. 

Oh,  my  love  was  werry  fair,  and  my  love  was  werry  kind, 
But  cruel  vos  the  cruel  judge  vot  had  my  love  to  try; 

Spoken — (Here's  your  precious  turnips.) 

For  thieving  vos  a  thing  she  never  vos  inclined  to, 
But  he  sent  my  love  alone  across  the  seas  far  away 

Spoken — (Here's  your  hard-hearted  cabbages.) 
Chorus — All  round  my  hat,  etc. 

For  seven  long  years  my  love  and  I  are  parted, 
For  seven  long  years  my  love  is  bound  to  stay ; 

Spoken — ('Tis  a  precious  long  time  Tore  I  does  any  tradt 
to-day.) 

Bad  luck  to  that  chap  vot  vould  hever  be  false-hearted ; 
I'll  love  my  love  for  hever,  though  she's  far,  far  away 

Spoken — (Here's  your  nice  heads  of  celery.) 
Chorus — All  round  my  hat,  etc. 

There  is  some  voung  is,  so  preciously  deceitful, 

A  coaxing  off  the  young  gals  they  vish  to  lead  astray , 

Spoken — (Here's  your  walnuts,  crack  'em  and  try  'em,  a 
shilling  a  hundred.) 

As  soon  as  they  deceive  'em,  so  cruelly  they  leave  'em, 
They  never  sighs  nor  sorrows  ven  they're  far,  far  away. 

Spoken — (Do  you  want  any  hingons  to-day,  marm?) 
Chorus— All  round  my  hat,  e'tc. 

I  bought  my  true  love  a  ring  on  the  werry  day  she  started, 
Which  I  guv  her  as  a  token  all  to  remember  me ; 

Spoken — (Bless  her  heyes  !) 

And  ven  she  does  come  back,  oh,  ve'll  never  more  be  parted, 
Ve'll  marry  and  be  'appy,  oh,  for  hever  and  a  day. 

Spoken — (Here's  your  fine  spring  reddishes.) 
Chorus — All  round  my  hat,  etc. 


16 


Long,  Long  Ago. 


Tell  me  the  tales  that  to  me  were  so  dear, 

Long,  long  ago,  long,  long  ago ; 
Sing  me  the  songs  I  delighted  to  hear, 

Long,  long  ago,  long  ago. 

Now  you  are  come,  my  grief  is  remov'd, 
Let  me  forget  that  so  long  you  have  rov'd ; 

Let  me  believe  that  you  love  as  you  lov'd, 
Long,  long  ago,  long  ago. 

Do  you  remember  the  path  where  we  met, 

Long,  long  ago,  long,  long  ago. 
Ah,  yes !  you  told  me  you  ne'er  would  forget, 

Long,  long  ago,  long  ago. 

Then  to  all  others  my  smile  you  preferr'd, 

Love,  when  you  spoke,  gave  a  charm  to  each  word ; 

Still  my  heart  treasures  the  praises  I  heard, 
Long,  long  ago,  long  ago. 

Though  by  your  kindness  my  fond  hopes  were  rais'd, 

Long,  long  ago,  long,  long  ago ; 
Ton  by  more  eloquent  lips  have  been  prais'd, 

Long,  long  ago,  long  ago. 


But  by  long  absence  your  truth  has  been  tried, 
Still  to  your  accents  I  listen  with  pride ; 

Blest  as  I  was  when  I  sat  by  your  side, 
Long,  long  ago,  long  ago. 


I 


17 


I  Dreamed  my  Boy  was  Home  again. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Sawyer  &  Thompson,  Music  Publisher! 
59  Fulton  avenue,  Brooklyn,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Lonely,  weary,  broken-hearted, 
As  I  laid  me  down  to  sleep, 
Thinking  of  the  day  we  parted, 

When  you  told  me  not  to  weep. 
Soon  I  dreamed  that  peaceful  angels 

Hovered  o'er  the  battle-plain, 

Singing  songs  of  joy  and  sadness, 

And  my  boy  was  home  again. 

Chorus — How  well  I  know  such  thoughts  of  joy, 

Such  dreams  of  bliss  are  vain ; 

My  heart  is  sad,  my  tears  will  flow, 

Until  my  boy  is  home  again.  %*W 

Tears  were  changed  to  loud  rejoicings, 

Night  was  turned  to  endless  day, 
Lovely  birds  were  sweetly  singing, 

Flowers  bloomed  in  light  array; 
Old  and  young  seemed  light  and  cheerful, 

Peace  seemed  everywhere  to  reign, 
My  poor  heart  forgot  its  sorrow, 

For  my  boy  was  home  again.   (Chorus.) 

But  the  dream  is  past,  and  with  it 

All  my  happiness  is  gone  ; 
Cheerful  thoughts  of  joy  have  vanished, 

I  must  sjill  in  sorrow  mourn ; 
Soon  may  peace  with  all  its  blessings 

Our  unhappy  land  reclaim  f 
Then  my  tears  will  cease  their  flowing, 

And  my  boy  be  home  again.    (Chorus.) 


18 


The  Battle-Cry  of  Freedom. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Ca©y,  Music  Publishers,  95 
Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Yes,we'll  rally  round  theflag,boys,we'll  rally  once  again 
Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom  ; 

We'll  rally  from  the  hillside,  we'll  rally  from  the  plain, 
Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom. 

CHORUS. 

The  Union  forever,  hurrah,  boys,  hurrah, 
•  Down  with  the  traitor,  up  wkh  the  star ; 
While  we  rally  round  the  flag,  boys,  rally  once  again, 
Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom. 


We  are  springing  to  the  call  of  our  brothers  gone  before, 
Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom  ;      [more, 

And  we'll  fill  the  vacant  ranks  with  a  million  freemen 
Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom. 
Chorus — The  Union  forever,  etc 

We  will  welcome  to  our  numb'rs  the  loyal  true  and  brave 
Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom ; 

And  altho'  he  may  be  poor,  he  shall  never  be  6  clave, 
Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom. 
Chorus— -The  Union  forever,  etc. 

[west, 

So  we're  springing  to  the  call  from  the  east  and  from  the 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom ;  [best, 

And  we'll  hurl  the  rebel  crew  from  the  land  we  love  the 

Shouting  the  battle-cry  of  freedom. 

Chorus— The  Union  forever,  etc. 


19 


Come  Back,  Massa,  Come  Back. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wic  Hall  &  Son,  Music  Publishers, 
543  Broadway,  N.  YM  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Since  massa  went  to  war  the  deuce  has  been  to  pay, 
De  cotton-pickin'  darkies  hab  all  run  away ; 
Some  are  up  at  Richmon',  de  good  for  noffin  scamps, 
And  some  are  diggin'  muck  in  de  Union  army  camps. 

CHORUS. 

Den  come  back,  massa,  come  back, 
Ob,  come  back,  massa,  come  back ; 
Shake  bands  with  Uncle  Sam,  an  I  be  a  Union  man, 
And  sabe  de  ole  plantation. 


Ole  missus  once  was  gay,  and  dressed  in  satin  fine, 
Now  she's  awful  poor,  and  wears  no  crinoline : 
De  prog  is  mighty  high,  de  money  awful  6carce, 
And  Linkum's  got  a  mortgage  on  de  niggers  ob  de  place. 
Chorus — Den  come  back,  massa,  etc. 

De  'possum  and  de  coon  are  as  sassy  as  you  please 
Since  all  de  blooded  dogs  were  toted  off  by  fleas ; 
De  measles  toted  off  all  de  cunniu'  little  nigs, 
And  de  sojers  ob  de  army  hab  toted  off  de  pigs ! 
Chorus — Den  come  back,  massa,  etc. 

What  de  war  is  all  about,  dis  darkie  doesn't  know, 
But  he  thinks  dat  Mars' r  Davis  has  a  mighty  slim  show; 
Down  here  in  ole  Virginny  ole  harry's  to  pay, 
Den  come  buck,  mars'r,  or  dis  darkie'll  run  away. 
Chorus — Den  come  back,  massa,  etc. 


20 


High  Daddie. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  sun's  gone  down  to  take  a  little  sleep, 
The  moon's  come  out  to  take  another  peep  ; 
Then  wake  up,  boys,  for  master's  gone  to  bed, 
We'll  have  a  spree  if  we  haven't  got  a  red. 

CHORUS. 

Then,  darkie,  never  die,  black  face  and  china  eye, 
Go  down  to  the  barnyard,  boys,  the  owl's  on  the  roos' 

High  Daddie  won't  come  nigh,  he's  choked  on  chicken 
pie, 
Tis  all  "  O.  K,"  I  say,  and  right  upon  the  goose. 

I  know'd  a  darkie,  and  his  name  it  was  Joe, 
I  know  it  was,  for  he  once  told  me  so  ; 
He  used  to  hoe  and  dig  up  all  the  land, 
But  now  he  says  that  work  is  contraband. 

He  drank  skimmed  milk  from  morn  'till  night, 
Somebody  said  that  it  would  make  him  white  ; 
But  let  him  drink  until  he  gets  his  fill, 
He's  always  bouud  to  be  a  darkie  still ! 

His  color  will  stick,  but  that's  not  a  sin, 
To  wash  it  off  you're  compelled  to  rub  it  in ; 
For  darkie  will  be  darkie,  as  I  have  said  before, 
To  the  end  of  the  world,  and  for  two  days  more  ! 

The  black  man  is  a  very  curious  thing, 

His  jay-bird  heel  can  shuffle,  cut  and  wing; 

But  fill  him  up  with  gin  and  lay  him  in  the  shade, 

He'll  work  very  well,  especially  if  he's  made ! 


21 


Bring  my  Brother  Back  to  Me. 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  T.  Gordox,  Music  Publisher,  538 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Bring  my  brother  back  to  me 

When  this  war  is  done, 
Give  us  all  the  joys  we  shared 

Ere  it  had  begun  ; 
Oh,  bring  my  brother  back  to  me, 

Never  more  to  stray, 
This  is  all  my  earnest  prayer 
Through  the  weary  day. 
Chorus — Bring  him  back,  bring  him  back, 

"With  his  smiling,  healthful  glee  ; 
Bring  him  back,  bring  him  back, 
Bring  my  brother  back  to  me. 

All  the  house  is  lonely  now, 

And  my  voice  no  more, 
In  the  pleasant  summer  eves 

Greets  him  at  the  door ; 
Never  more  I  hear  his  step 

By  the  garden-gate, 
While  I  sit  in  anxious  tears, 

Knowing  not  his  fate.  (Chobus.) 

Bring  my  brother  buck  to  me 

From  the  battle  strife, 
Thou  who  watchest  o'er  the  good, 

Shield  his  precious  life. 
When  this  war  has  passed  away, 

Safe  from  all  alarms, 
Bring  my  brother  home  again 

To  my  longing  arms.  (Cnoiiu*.) 


83 

Fannie  Grey. 

"  "Well,  well,  sir,  so  you've  come  at  last  I 

I  thought  you'd  come  no  more ; 
I  waited  with  my  bonnet  on, 

From  one  till  half-past  four ! 
Tou  know  I  hate  to  sit  alone, 

Unsettled  where  to  go ; 
You'll  break  my  heart,  I  feel  you  will, 

If  you  continue  so." 

"  Now  pray,  my  love,  put  by  that  frown, 

And  don't  begin  to  scold ; 
You  really  will  persuade  me  soon 

You're  growing  cross  and  old. 
I  only  stopped  at  Grosv'nor  gate, 

Young  Fannie's  eye  to  catch  ; 
I  won't,  I  swear  I  won't,  be  made 

To  keep  time  like  a  watch !" 

4<  It  took  you,  then,  two  hours  to  bow  t 

Two  hours  !     Take  off  your  hat ; 
I  wish  you'd  bow  that  way  to  me  ; 

And  apropos  of  that. 
I  saw  you  making  love  to  her, 

(You  see  I  know  it  all,) 
I  saw  you  making  love  to  her, 

At  Lady  Glossop's  ball." 

44  Now  really,  Jane,  your  temper  ii 

So  very  odd  to-day  ! 
Tou  jealous,  and  of  such  a  girl 

As  little  Fannie  Grey ! 
Make  love  to  her  !     Indeed,  my  dear, 

You  could  see  no  such  thing ; 
I  sat  a  minute  by  her  side, 

To  see  a  torquoise  ring !" 


23 


44  I  tell  you  that  I  saw  it  all, 

The  whispering  and  grimace, 
The  flirting  and  coquetting, 

In  her  little  foolish  face. 
Oh,  Charles,  I  wonder  that  the  eartk 

Don't  open  where  you  stand ; 
By  the  heaven  that  is  above  us  both, 

I  $aw  you  kiss  her  hand !" 

44 1  didn't  love  !  or  if  I  did, 

Allowing  that  'tis  true, 
When  a  pretty  woman  shows  her  rings, 

What  can  a  poor  man  do  ? 
My  l;r-%  my  soul,  my  darling  Jane, 

I  lifte  but  you  alone ; 
I  never  thought  of  Fannie  Grey — 

How  tiresome  she  is  grown  P 

44  Put  down  your  hat,  don't  take  your  stick, 

Now,  prithee,  Charles,  do  stay  1 
You  never  come  to  see  me  now, 

But  you  long  to  run  away ; 
There  was  a  time,  there  was  a  time. 

You  never  wished  to  go ; 
What  have  I  done,  what  hate  I  done, 

Dear  Charles,  to  change  you  so  ?" 

44  Pooh,  pooh,  my  love,  I  am  not  changed, 

But  dinner  is  at  eight, 
And  my  father's  so  particular, 

He  never  likes  to  wait. 
Good-by."     44  Good-by,  you'll  come  a^aiar' 

"  Yes,  one  of  these  days  P 
44  He's  turn'd  the  street,  I  knew  he  would, 

He's  gone  to  Fannie  Grey's  1" 


24 


Oh,  Sing  to  me  those  dear  old  Songs. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditso2*  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  st.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  sing  to  me  those  clear  old  songs, 

"Whose  tones  I  love  so  well, 
Let  music's  soft  and  syren  touch 

Awaken  mem'ry's  spell ; 
And  while  my  heart  retraces  swift 

The  footsteps  of  the  past, 
Full  many  a  sad  and  pleasant  thought 
Comes  crowding  thick  and  fast. 
Chorus— Oh,  sing  to  me  those  dear  old  songs, 
Whose  tones  I  love  so  well ; 
Let  music's  soft  and  syren  touch 
Awaken  mem'ry's  spell. 

The  loved,  the  lost  of  former  years 

Before  my  vision  stands, 
Some  who  have  gone  to  distant  climes, 

Some  to  the  better  land  ; 
But  still,  the  trusted  and  the  tried, 

A  faithful  few  remain ; 
'Twill  cheer  their  hearts  on  life's  rough  way 

To  hear  those  songs  again.       (Chorus.) 

Then  sing  to  me  the  dear  old  songs, 

Each  word  your  lips  let  fall 
Awakes  the  thought  of  other  days, 

At  mem'ry's  potent  call ; 
And  till  life's  latest  lingering  hour, 

'Twill  give  me  untold  joy 
To  hear  the  tones,  and  feel  their  power, 

I  owned  when  but  a  boy.  (Chorus.) 


35 


The  Stars  and  Stripes. 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  T.  Gordon,  Music  Publisher,  533 
Broadway,  N«w  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Rally  round  the  flag,  boys,  give  it  to  the  breeze, 
That's  the  banner  we  love  on  the  land  and  the  seas  ; 
Brave  hearts  are  under  it,  let  the  traitors  brag, 
Gallant  lads,  fire  away,  and  fight  for  the  flag  ; 
Their  flag  is  but  a  rag,  ours  is  the  true  one, 
Up  with  the  stars  and  stripes,  down  with  the  new  one. 
Let  our  colors  fly,  boys,  guard  them  day  and  night, 
For  victory  is  liberty,  and  God  will  bless  the  right. 

CHORUS. 

Rally  round  the  flag,  boys,  give  it  to  the  breeze, 
That's  the  banner  we  love  on  the  land  and  the  seas ; 
Brave  hearts  are  under  it,  let  the  traitors  brag, 
Gallant  lads,  fire  away,  and  fight  for  the  flag. 

Floating  high  above  us,  glowing  in  the  sun, 
Speaking  loud  to  all  hearts  of  a  freedom  won, 
Who  dares  to  sully  it,  bought  wTith  precious  blood, 
Gallant  lads,  we'll  fight  for  it,  tho'  ours  should  swell 

the  flood. 
Raise,  then,  the  banner  high,  ours  is  the  true  one, 
Up  with  the  stars  and  stripes,  etc. 

Tyrants  learn  to  fear  it,  tremble  at  its  sight, 

All  who  sigh  for  freedom  hail  it  with  delight; 

Freedom  and  liberty,  let  the  echoes  ring, 

That  is  what  the  world  wants,  that  our  flag  will  bring. 

Raise,  then,  the  banner  high,  ours  is  the  true  one 

Up  with  the  stars  and  stripes,  etc. 


26 


Will  lie  Never  Come? 

Will  he  never  come  ? 
Never  come— no  more  ? 
Will  this  long  life  never  cease  ? 
And  the  battle-drum 
And  the  cannon's  roar  ? 
I'm  weary,  and  I  sigh  for  peace — 
Peace  that  only  in  the  grave  may  be ; 

Will  he  never  come  again, 
Never  come  to  me  ? 

Dreaming  all  the  night 
Of  my  own,  my  own  ; 
Weeping  all  the  long,  long  day, 
Oh !  this  world  of  blight ! 
For  his  missing  tone 
And  his  tender  smile  now  passed  away, 
Oh !  his  noble  heart  this  night  may  be 

Trodden  by  harsh  feet,  and  cold, 
Cold  in  death,  to  me  1 

How  the  guns  of  brass, 
Hurling  peal  on  peal, 
Rend  my  soul  at  every  crash  J 
Minie  balls,  alas ! 

Blades  of  gleaming  steel 
At  his  precious  life,  each  moment  clash. 
Only  held  to  earth  by  a  slender  breath, 

Why  is  death  so  slow  to  me  ? 
Grant  my  prayer,  oh  death  ! 

On  my  breast  my  child, 
His  sweet  babe  I  hold ; 
Hold  it  till  my  weak  arms  ache — 
Just  his  blue  eye,  mild  ; 


37 


Just  his  hair  of  gold — 
May  it  die,  for  soon  this  heart  must  break ; 
May  it,  ere  I  die,  from  earth  be  free  ! 

Then  we  three  shall  part  no  more — 
Husband,  babe— we  three. 


Why  do  I  Weep  for  Thee? 

Why  do  I  weep  for  thee  ? 

Weep  in  my  sad  dreams, 
Parted  for  aye  are  we, 

Yes,  parted  like  mountain  streams. 
Yet  with  me  linger  still 

That  word,  that  one  last  word, 
Thy  voice,  thy  voice  yet  seems  to  thrill 

3Iy  heart's  fond  chord. 

CHORUS. 

Why  do  I  weep  for  thee  ? 

Parted  for  aye  are  we, 
Yes,  parted  like  the  mountain  streams, 

Yes,  parted,  why  do  I  weep  for  the*  ? 

Oh,  why  do  I  weep  for  thee  ? 
Once,  ah  !  what  joy  to  me  to  share 

With  thee  the  noontide  hour, 
Then  not  a  grief  nor  care 

Had  cankered  the  heart's  young  flower. 
The  sun  seems  not  to  shed 

A  radiance  o'er  me  now, 
Save  memory,  all  seems  dead, 

Since  lost,  aince  lost  art  thou.  (Chorus.) 


28 


Gentle  Annie  Ray. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co-,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I'm  sitting  by  thy  grave  to-night, 

I'm  weeping  bitter  tears, 
For,  ah  !  stern  sorrow's  withering  blight 

Hath  dimmed  the  hopes  of  years. 
The  smile  hath  vanished  from  my  brow, 

My  heart  is  sad  to-day ; 
The  world  is  dark  and  lonely  now, 
My  gentle  Annie  Ray. 
Chorus — The  smile  has  vanished  from  my  brow, 
My  heart  is  sad  to-day  ; 
The  world  is  dark  and  lonely  now, 
My  gentle  Annie  Ray. 

The  night-wind  sighs  around  thy  tomb, 

The  gentle  willows  o'er  thee  weep ; 
The  summer  flowers  in  beauty  bloom 

"Where  thou  art  laid  to  sleep. 
An  angel  form  and  sweeter  strain 

Now  call  my  soul  away  ; 
I  know  in  heaven  I'll  meet  again 

My  gentle  Annie  Ray.  (Choru9.) 


I'm  Coming  Home  to  Die. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 
Unwelcome  winds  are  sighing, 

Within  the  distant  west, 

And  wrapt  in  pain  I'm  lying, 

With  vision-broken  rest; 


29 


I  often  dream  thy  bosom 

Is  pillowing  my  head, 
And  wake,  to  find  illusion 

Has  gathered  round  my  bed ; 
But  starting  from  my  dreaming, 

I  check  the  rising  sigh, 
For  I'm  coming  home  to  die,  mother ! 

I'm  coming  home  to  die ! 

I  long  to  see  thee,  mother, 

And  kiss  thy  dear  old  cheek ; 
I  feel  there  is  no  other 

With  whom  I  wish  to  speak  ; 
No  heart  has  half  such  kindness, 

No  voice  such  music's  flow ; 
Why  did  I  in  my  blindness, 

Cause  you  a  moment's  woe  ? 
I  know  you've  mourned  full  often, 

But  wipe  the  glistening  eye, 
For  I'm  coming  home  to  die,  mother  I 

I'm  coming  home  to  die ! 

My  memory  is  clinging 

To  childhood's  sunny  hours, 
And  sister's  voice  seems  ringing 

Amid  the  garden  flowers  ; 
The  moments  seem  to  lengthen, 

As  starting  hour  draws  near, 
And  hope  begins  to  strengthen, 

With  thoughts  of  leaving  here  ; 
80  let  the  heart  be  gladdened, 

Our  meeting  hour  is  nigh, 
For  I'm  coming  home  to  die,  mother ! 

I'm  coming  home  to  die  ! 


30 


Boses  Lie  along  the  Way. 

Copie4  by  permission  of  Oliykb  Ditson  <fcCo.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  st.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Roses  lie  along  the  way 

"Which  our  feet  are  treading, 
Fortune  sends  a  transient  day 

Free  from  all  we're  dreading ; 
Now  the  youth  on  pleasure's  war© 

Light  and  gay  is  flowing, 
Now  how  soon  across  his  grave 

Wintry  winds  are  blowing. 


Full  of  hope  the  blushing  bride 

Now  the  youth  is  wedding, 
But  how  soon  the  ebbing  tide 

Blight  o'er  all  is  shedding; 
Pleasure's  day  is  quickly  past, 

All  the  good  to  mortals  falling, 
Chilled  like  flowers  by  wintry's  blast, 

Fate  is  soon  recalling. 


Yet  while  springtime's  lovely  light 

Sheds  its  cheerful  beaming, 
Be  by  day  each  pleasure  bright, 

Sweet  by  night  our  dreaming ; 
Ev'ry  joy  tliat  chimes  with  truth, 

Let  us  gladly  cherish, 
So  shall  smile  our  age  and  youth, 

Till  our  life  shall  perish. 


31 


Wouldn't  You  Like  to  Know? 

Cepied  by  permission  of  Olitob  Pitsox  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Who  is  that  comes  to  the  garden  gate, 

And  sets  up  a  whistling  scream, 
When  you're  off  and  away,  so  happy  and  gay, 

Like  a  beautiful  fairy  dream  ? 
Who  is  that  comes  to  the  old  back  door, 

As  off  at  a  signal  you  go  ? 
The  maiden  sighed,  and,  blushing,  replied, 

14  Well,  wouldn't  you  like  to  know  ?" 


What  is  it  that  makes  you  look  for  things 

So  straight  before  your  eyes  ? 
At  ev'ry  knock  or  stroke  of  the  clock 

You  quiikly  as  lightning  rise, 
And  oft  at  a  sound  you  quickly  dress, 

You  say  for  a  walk  to  go? 
The  maiden  sighed,  and,  smiling,  replied, 

44  Well,  wouldn't  you  like  to  know  ?" 


But  time  has  passed,  and  many  a  change 

In  the  village  is  easily  seen, 
Yet  a  form  with  a  face  full  of  beauty  and  grace 

Trips  lightly  o'er  the  green  ; —  • 
'Tis  she  who  did  meet  her  true  love  at  the  gate, 

And  a  tiny  ring  doth  show 
She's  now 'the  bride,  the  joy  and  the  pride 

Of— wouldn't  you  like  to  know? 


32 


Gaffer  Grey. 


Oh !  why  dost  thou  shiver  and  shake, 

Gaffer  Grey  ? 
And  why  doth  thy  nose  look  so  blue  ? 
Tis  the  weather  that's  cold, 
'Tis  I'm  grown  very  old, 
And  my  doublet  is  not  very  new, 
Well-a-day  1 

Then  line  thy  worn  doublet  with  ale, 

Gaffer  Grey, 

And  warm  thy  old  heart  with  a  glasa. 

Nay,  but  credit  I've  none, 

And  my  money's  all  gone ; 

Then  say  how  may  that  come  to  pass  ? 

Well-a-day ! 

Hie  away  to  the  house  on  the  brow, 

Gaffer  Grey, 
And  knock  at  the  jolly  priest's  door. 
The  priest  often  preaches 
Against  worldly  riches, 
But  ne'er  gives  a  mite  to  the  poor, 
Well-a-day  ! 

The  lawyer  lives  under  the  hill, 

Gaffer  Grey, 
Warmly  fenced  both  in  back  and  in  front. 
He  will  fasten  his  locks, 
And  will  threaten  the  stocks, 
Should  he  ever  more  find  me  m  want, 
Well-a-day  1 


33 


The  squire  bas  fat  beeves  and  brown  ale, 

Gaffer  Grey, 
And  the  season  will  welcome  you  ther*. 
Hi3  fat  beeves  and  bis  beer, 
And  bis  merry  new  year, 
Are  all  for  tbe  flusb  and  tbe  fair, 
Well-a-day ! 

My  keg  is  but  low,  I  confess, 

Gaffer  Grey, 
What  then  ?  while  life  lasts,  man,  we'll  lire. 
The  poor  man  alone, 
AVhen  he  hears  tbe  poor  moan, 
Of  his  morsel  a  morsel  will  give, 
Well-a-day ! 


Beggar  Girl. 


Over  the  mountain  and  over  tbe  moor, 

Hungry  and  barefoot  I  wander  forlorn ; 
My  father  is  dead  and  my  mother  is  poor, 

And  she  grieves  for  the  days  that  will  never  return. 
Pity,  kind  gentlemen,  friends  of  humanity, 

Cold  blows  the  wind,  and  the  night's  coming  on; 
Give  me  some  food  for  my  mother,  for  charity, 

Give  me  some  food  and  then  I'll  be  gone. 

Call  me  not  lazy-back,  beggar,  and  bold  enough, 
Fain  would  I  learn  both  to  knit  and  to  sew  ; 

I've  two  little  brothers  at  home,  when  they're  old  en'gh 
They  will  work  hard  for  the  gifts  you  bestow. 

Give  me  some  food  for  my  mother,  for  charity, 
Give  me  some  food  and  then  I'll  be  gone. 
No.  10  2 


34 


We  will  not  Eetreat  any  More. 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  T.  Gordon,  Music  Publisher,  533 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

The  fortunes  of  war  often  change,  boys, 

And  trifles  oft  turn  the  scale  ; 
Though  heavy  the  blows  that  we  strike,  boys, 

We  find  that  the  truest  may  fail. 
But  where's  the  heart  to  despair,  boys, 

Or  who  shall  advise  to  turn  back  ? 
Just  add  a  little  more  steam,  boys, 

And  rush  our  good  cause  o'er  the  track. 
Cho's— Oh,  we  will  not  retreat  any  more,  boys, 

We  will  not  retreat  any  more  ;  [catch, 

We've  numbers  to  match,  the  traitors  we'd 
We  will  not  retreat  any  more. 

We've  battled  thus  long  for  the  right,  boys, 

Regardless  of  station  or  gold, 
We've  suffered  from  hunger  and  thirst,  boys, 

And  tramped  through  the  heat  and  the  cold ; 
But  let  our  brave  leaders  once  call,  boys, 

We'll  rush  to  the  fray  as  before, 
We're  ready  to  fight  or  to  die,  boys, 

But  not  to  retreat  any  more.         (Chorus.) 

We  often  go  home  in  our  dreams,  boys, 

And  sit  by  the  old  kitchen  fire, 
And  tell  o'er  the  tales  of  our  camps,  boys, 

To  listeners  we  never  can  tire ; 
But  just  la  our  moments  of  blis3,  boys, 

While  thinking  our  hardships  are  o'er, 
The  order  comes  round  to  turn  out,  boys, 

Fall  in,  and  tramp  on  as  before.  (Chorus.) 


35 


Our  comrades  fill  many  a  grave,  boys, 

Our  brothers  are  crippled  and  maimed,. 
Of  those  who  now  fall  as  they  fell,  boys, 

Our  country  need  not  be  ashamed. 
We  sigh  for  the  blessings  of  peace,  boys, 

We  tire  of  the  war-bugle's  blast, 
We'll  conquer  before  we  go  home,  boys, 
We'll  fight  for  our  flag  till  the  last. 
Clio's — Oh,  we  will  not  retreat  any  more,  boys, 

We  will  not  retreat  any  more;  [catch, 

We've  numbers  to  match,  the  traitors  we'd 
We  will  not  retreat  any  more. 


Nigger,  Put  Down  Dat  Jug. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co. .Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  6t.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Nigger,  put  down  dat  jug,  touch  not  a  single  drop, 
Fb  gin  it  many  a  hug,  an'  dere  you  lef  it  stop ; 
'Twas  dis  old  nigger's  hand  dat  fust  did  place  it  dare, 
An'  dare  you  lef  it  stand,  or  else  dis  nigger  sw'ar. 
Dat  ole  familiar  jug,  chock  full  of  ginger  rum, 
Lord,  how  I  love  to  hug,  because  de  drunk  soon  come ; 
Dar  nigger  lef  it  lay,  touch  not  a  single  taste, 
Golly,  I  cum  dat  way,  your  back  wid  ropes  I  baste. 

When  but  a  nigger  boy,  a  hoeing  massa's  corn, 
Lord,  how  it  gub  me  joy  to  take  from  dat  a  horn; 
I  kiss  it  two,  t'ree  time,  an'  den  I  suck  him  dry, 
Dat  jug  be  none  but  mine,  so  dar  you  lef  him  lie. 
My  mouih  around  he  cling,  close  as  de  rum,  old  friend, 
I  kiss  he  an'  I  sing  dat  rum  may  nebber  end. 
^igge^  Put  down  dat  jug,  touch  not  a  single  drop, 
I'b  gib  it  many  a  hug,  an'  dare  you  lef  it  stop. 


Werry  Pekooliar. 

Have  you  ever  been  in  love  ?  if  you  haven't  I  have  ; 
To  the  mighty  god  Coopid  I  have  been  a  great  slave  ; 
He  slrot  in  my  bosom  a  quiver  of  harrows, 
As  naughty  boys  shoot  roosters,  robins  and  sparrows ; 
My  heart  was  as  pure  as  the  white  alabaster, 
Till  Coopid  my  bosom  did  weak  overmaster ; 
Ye  gods  only  know  how  I  loved  one  Miss  Julia, 
There  was  something  about  her  so  werry  pekooliar. 

We  met  first  at  a  ball,  where  our  hands  did  entwine, 
And  I  did  squeech  her  fingers,  and  she  did  squeech  mine ; 
To  be  my  next  partner  I  ventured  to  press  her,  [sir ;" 
And  I  found  that  she  lisped  when  she  answered  me,"  Yes, 
Now  in  lisping  I  think  there  is  something  uncommon, 
I  love  in  pertiklar  a  lisp  in  a  woman ; 
I'm  sure  you'd  have  liked  the  lisp  of  Miss  Julia, 
There  was  something  about  it  so  werry  pekooliar. 

Like  a  beautiful  peach  was  the  cheek  of  my  Julia, 
And  then  in  her  eye  there  was  something  pekaoliar ; 
Speaking  wolumes  it  darted  each  glance  in  one's  marrow 
As  swift  and  as  keen  as  the  wicked  boy's  harrow ; 
A  slight  cast  in  her  eye  to  her  looks  added  vigor, 
A  cast  in  the  eye  often  tends  to  disfigure, 
But  not  so  the  cast  in  the  eye  of  my  Julia, 
There  was  something  about  it  so  werry  pekooliar. 

Good  friends  were  we  soon,  and  midst  smiles  and  midst 
I  courted  her  nearly  for  three  or  four  years ;     [tears, 
I  took  her  to  plays  and  to  balls ;  oh,  ye  powers, 
How  swiftly  and  sweetly  did  then  pass  my  hours. 
But  once,  oh,  e'en  now  I  my  feelings  can't  smother, 
She  danced  all  the  evening  along  with  another ; 
Now  I  didn't  say  nothing  that  night  to  Miss  Julia, 
But  I  couldn't  help  thinking  'twas  werry  pekooliar. 


37 


I  went  next  day  to  scokl,  when  she  to  my  heart's  core 
Cut  me  up  by  requesting  I'd  call  there  no  more, 
And  I  should  be  affronted  if  longer  I  tarried, 
For  next  day  to  another  she  was  to  be  married. 
"  Oh,  Julia,"  said  I,  "  why  you  do  not  say  so !" 
"Oh,  yes,  but  I  do,  sir,  though  you'd  better  go." 
"  Well,  I  will  go,  but  surely  you'll  own  it,  Miss  Julia, 
Your  beharior  to  me  has  been  werry  pekooliar." 


Mister  Hill,  pray  be  Still. 

Copied  bypermiseion  of  Oliyer  Ditson  &  Co..  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

3Iister,  Hill,  pray  be  still, 

Don't  worry  me,  sir ; 

Such  a  man  never  can 

My  lover  be,  sir. 

Ha,  ha,  ha,  etc. 

You  men  are  so  vain,  so  false,  yet  endearing ; 

Tour  vows  like  the  wind,  which  is  constantly  veering, 

Ha,  ha,  ha,  etc. 

Laughing  eyes,  smiles  or  sighs, 

Cooing  like  the  dove,  sir ; 
Vows  or  prayers,  or  winning  airs, 

Ne'er  can  me  move,  sir.      Ha,  ha,  etc. 
Last  night  in  the  grove,  there  you  proffered  your  love 
To  Julia,  invoking  the  bright  orbs  above.     Ha,  ha,  etc. 

Not  quite  yet,  in  your  net, 

The  bird  have  you  caught,  sir; 
Ne'er  will  I  wedded  be 

To  a  male  coquette,  sir.     Ha,  ha,  etc. 
Besides,  Fve  a  secret  profound  to  confide : 
:  To-morro*'  another  will  greet  me  his  bride.    Ha,  etc 


38 


Keep  this  Bible  near  your  Heart. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co..  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  st.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

"  Go  forth,  my  darling,  to  the  conflict," 

Thus  spoke  a  mother  to  her  boy, 
"  Ne'er  let  me  hear  you  turned  away 

"When    traitors   threaten    our   loved    country   to 
destroy ; 
Take  with  you  a  mother's  blessing, 

Keep  this  Bible  near  your  heart, 
Never  forget  a  mother's  prayers  are  ever  with  you, 

And  her  love  for  you  will  ne'er  depart.*' 

CHORUS. 

All's  well,  he  sleeps,  the  orange  flowers  bloom  on  his 
grave, 

Sadly  she  weeps  for  him  who  died  upon  the  battle- 
field, 

Her  own  loved  soldier  boy  so  brave. 

"  Go  !  for  your  country's  voice  is  calling, 

All  stout  of  heart. and  strong  of  hand, 
How  could  you  nobler  die,  than  fighting  bravely 

For  your  God  and  honored  native  land  ? 
And  if  this  is  our  last  parting, 

If  death  breaks  the  loving  spell, 
Trust  him  who  watchetlx  e'en  the  sparrow  when  it 
falleth, 

All  is  well,  *  He  doeth  all  things  well.'  "    (Cho.) 

Foremost  among  the  ranks  in  battle, 

Stood  forth  the  patriot  mother's  joy, 
Clear  o'er  the  din  of  musket's  rattle, 

Rung  the  cheering  words  of  that  brave  soldier  boy  ; 


39 


Eyes  lit.  up  with  strangest  beauty, 

Soul  that  knew  no  clanger  near, 
Firmly  he  stood  amid  the  harvest  death  was  reaping, 

With  a  heart  that  knew  no  trembling  fear. 

But  soon  the  fatal  ball  came  swiftty, 

Slowly  he  sunk  upon  the  sod, 
Faintly  he  whispered,  "  Dearest  mother — 

Comrades,  I  shall  soon  be  o'er  beyond  the  flood  ; 
Take  from  out  my  vest  my  Bible, 

Place  the  treasure  in  my  hand," 
One  loving  look,  one  gentle  quiver, 

And  his  spirit  took  its  flight  home  to  the  heavenly  land 


The  Sunny  Hours  of  Childhood. 

The  sunny,  sunny  hours  of  childhood, 

How  soon,  how  soon  they  pass  away, 
Like  flowers,  like  flowers  in  the  wildwood, 

That  once  bloomed  fresh  and  gay ; 
But  the  perfume  of  the  flowers, 

And  the  freshness  of  the  heart, 
Live  but  a  few  brief  hours, 

And  then  for  age  depart. 

The  friends,  the  friends  we  saw  around  us, 

In  boyhood's  happy,  happy  days, 
The  fairy,  fairy  links  that  bound  us, 

No  feeling  now  displays ; 
For  time  hath  changed  forever, 

AVhat  youth  can  not  retain, 
And  we  may  know,  oh !  never, 

These  sunny  hours  again- 


Stop  Dat  Knockm'. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Russell  &  Tolman,  Music  Publishers, 
192. Washington  st.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  once  did  lore  a  yaller  gal,  whose  name  was  Susie 

Brown, 
She  came  from  Alabama,  and  was  the  fairest  in  the  town ; 
Her  eyes  so  bright  that  they  shine  at  night, 

When  the  moon  has  gone  away ; 
She  used  to  call  this  nigga  up, 
Just  afore  the  broke  of  day, 
With  a  "  Who  dat,  who  dat,  who  dat  knocking  at  de 

door?" 
Spoken—"  Am  dat  you,  Sam— am  dat  you,  Sam  ?" 

11  Why,  Sam,  ain't  you  guine  to  luff  me  in  ?" 

"  No,  you'd  better  stop  dat  knockin'  at  the  door  " — 

"  let  me  in," 

"  Stop  dat  knockin'  "— "  let  me  in," 

"  Stop  dat  knockin'  "— -"  let  me  in," 

"  Stop  dat  knockin'  "— "  let  me  in." 

"  Ah !  you  better  stop  dat  knockin'  at  my  door " — 

"  let  me  in," 
"  Stop    dat    knockin',  stop    dat    knockin',    stop    dat 

knockin'," 
"  Slop  dat  knockin',  oh  !  you  better  stop  dat  knockin' 
at  my  door." 

She  was  the  handsomest  gal  dat  eber  I  did  see ; 
She  neber  went  out  walkin'  with  any  colored  man 

but  me; 
I  took  my  banjo  to  the  house  to  play  three  times  or  more, 
When  I  heard  two  or  three  knocks  pretty  hard 
Come  bang  agin  the  door. 

Spoken— With  a  "  Who  dat,  who  dat,"  etc. 


41 


Come,  oh,  Come  with  Me. 

Come,  oh,  come  wtyji  mc,  the  moon  is  beaming, 
Come,  oh,  come  with  me,  the  stars  are  gleaming, 
All  around,  above,  with  beauty  teeming, 
Moonlight  hcurs  are  meet  for  love. 

cuonrs. 
Fal  le  lar  le  lar,  fal  lar  lar  lar,  fal  le  lar  le  lar,  etc., 
Come,  oh,  come  with  me,  the  moon  is  beaming, 
Come,  oh, -come  with  me,  the  stars  are  gleaming. 

My  skiff  is  by  the  shore,  she  is  light  and  free, 
To  fly  the  feathered  oar  is  joy  to  me, 
And  as  we  glide  along,  my  song  shall  be, 
My  dearest  maid,  I  love  but  thee.         (Ciiorus.) 


Switzer's  Song  of  Home. 

Why,  oh,  why,  my  heart,  this  sadness, 
Why,  mid  scenes  like  these  decline  ? 

Where  all,  tho1  strange,  is  joy  and  gladnesi, 
Say,  what  wish  can  yet  be  thine  ? 
Oh,  say,  what  wish  can  yet  be  thine  ? 

All  that's  dear  to  me  is  wanting, 
Lone  and  cheerless  here  I  roam ; 

The  stranger's  joys  howe'er  enchanting, 
To  me  can  never  be  like  home, 
To  me  can  never  be  like  home. 

Give  me  those,  I  ask  no  other, 

Those  that  bless  the  humble  dome 

Wliere  dwell  my  father  and  my  mothtr, 
Give,  oh,  give  me  back  my  home, 
Give,  oh,  give  me  back  my  home. 


42 


Mother  would  Comfort  Me. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Sawyer  &  Thompson,  Music  Publishers 
59  Fulton  avenue,  Brooklyn,  owners  of  the  copyright 

Wounded  and  sorrowful,  far  from  my  home, 
Sick,  among  strangers,  uncared  for,  unknown ; 
Even  the  birds  that  used  sweetly  to  sing 
Are  silent,  and  swiftly  have  taken  the  wing; 
No  one  but  mother  can  cheer  me  to-day, 
No  one  for  me  could  so  fervently  pray ; 
None  to  console  me,  no  kind  friends  near, 
Mother  would  comfort  me  if  she  were  here. 
Cho. — Gently  her  hand  o'er  my  forehead  she'd  press, 
Trying  to  free  me  from  pain  and  distress ; 
Kindly  she'd  say  to  me,  "  Be  of  good  cheer, 
Mother  will  comfort  you,  mother  is  here  P 

If  she  were  with  me  I  soon  would  forget 
My  pain  and  my  sorrow,  no  more  would  I  fret ; 
One  kiss  from  her  lips,  or  one  look  from  her  eye, 
"Would  make  me  contented  and  willing  to  die. 
Gently  her  hand  o'er  my  forehead  she'd  press, 
Trying  to  free  me  from  pain  and  distress ; 
Kindly  she'd  say  to  me,  "  Be  of  good  cheer, 
Mother  will  comfort  you,  mother  is  here !" 

Cheerfully,  faithfully,  mother  would  stay 
Always  beside  me,  by  night  and  by  day ; 
If  I  should  murmur,  or  wish  to  complain, 
Her  gentle  voice  would  soon  calm  me  again. 
Sweetly  a  mother's  love  shines  like  a  star, 
Brightest  in  darkness  when  daylight's  afar,; 
In  clouds  or  in  sunshine,  pleasure  or  pain, 
Mother's  affection  is  ever  the  same.     (Chorus.) 


43 


The  Miseries  of  Sneezing. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher  a  > 
277  W  ashington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I've  lots  of  trouble  and  pain  through  life, 

And  ever  am  in  hot  water  and  strife ! 

My  nose  has  got  such  a  queer  disease, 

I'm  almost  dying  for  having  to  sneeze ! 

Chorus — And  thus  in  trouble  my  life  began, 

And  now  I  am  known  as  the  sneezing  man  ; 
And  thus  in  trouble  my  life  began, 
Oh,  pity  the  nose  of  a  sneezing  man ! 

When  first  a  baby  in  nurse's  arms, 

I  went  to  meeting  and  caused  alarm, 

The  people  were  roused  from  slumbering  ease, 

By  hearing  that  pesky  infant  sneeze ! 

When  next  at  seven  I  went  to  school, 

To  study,  to  read  and  write  by  rule, 

I  saw  the  children  as  thick  as  bees, 

But  they  scampered  away  when  they  heard  me  sneeze  ! 

When  next  my  frolicking  days  came  round, 

A  beautiful  damsel  soon  I  found, 

But  as  the  maiden  was  just  the  cheese, 

She  fainted  away  when  she  heard  me  sneeze  ! 

"  I  wish,"  cried  I,  to  my  angel  dear, 
44  To  tell  of  my  love  while  kneeling  here  I" 
But  though  I  was  there  on  my  bended  knees, 
It  couldn't  be  done,  for  I  had  to  sneeze ! 

The  damsel  screamed  and  fell  to  the  floor, 
In  agony  wild  her  hair  she  tore  ! 
When  turning  I  went  like  an  autumn  breeae, 
Skedaddling  off  with  another  sneeze. 


44 


Bonnie  Blue  Flag. 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  T.  Gokdon,  Music  Publisher,  538 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

We  are  a  band  of  patriots, 

Who  each  leave  home  and  friend, 
Our  noble  constitution 

And  banner  to  defend  ; 
Our  Capitol  was  threatened, 

And  the  cry  rose  near  and  far, 
To  protect  our  country's  glorious  flag, 

That  glitters  with  many  a  star. 
Chorus — Hurrah,  hurrah,  for  the  union,  boys,  hurrah ! 
Hurrah  for  our  forefather's  good  old  flag, 

That  glitters  with  many  a  star. 

Much  patience  and  forbearance 

The  North  has  always  shown, 
Toward  her  Southern  brethren, 

Who  had  each  way  their  own ; 
But  when  we  made  our  president, 

A  man  whom  we  desired, 
Their  wrath  was  roused,  they  mounted  guns, 

And  on  Fort  Sumter  fired.         (Chorus.) 

They  forced  the  war  upon  us, 

For  peaceful  men  are  we, 
They  steal  our  money,  seize  our  forts, 

And  then  as  cowards  flee ; 
False  to  their  vows,  and  to  the  flag 

That  once  protected  them, 
They  sought  the  union  to  dissolve, 

Earth's  noblest,  brighcest  gem.         (Cho.) 


45 


We're  in  the  right,  and  will  prevail, 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  must  fly, 
The  "bonnie  blue  flag"  be  hauled  down, 

And  every  traitor  die ; 
Freedom  and  peace  enjoyed  by  all, 

As  ne'er  was  known  before, 
Our  Spangled  Banner  wave  on  high, 

With  stars  just  thirty-four.        (Chorus.) 


Murmuring  Sea, 


Murmuring  sea  !  beautiful  sea  ! 

How  I  love  to  list  to  thy  melody, 

When  the  winds  are  still  in  thy  rocky  caves, 

And  the  sweet  stars  glance  on  thy  purple  waves  ; 

'Tis  then  I  dream  of  the  distant  land, 

Where  I  left  a  loving  and  joyous  band ; 

Oh,  dearer  than  ever  they  seem  to  be, 

As  I  muse  on  the  shore  of  the  murmuring  sea. 

Murmuring  sea  !    beautiful  sea  ! 

Oh,  dearer  than  ever  they  seem  to  be. 

As  we  muse  on  the  shore  of  the  murmuring  sea, 

The  murmuring,  murmuring  sea. 


Murmuring  sea  !  beautiful  sea  ! 

I  no  more  shall  sail  o'er  thy  waters  free, 

But  I  watch  the  ships  as  they  fade  from  wgLt, 

And  my  fancy  follows  their  trackless  flight, 

Bounding  away  to  their  distant  mart, 

To  the  land  so  dear  to  my  lonely  heart ; 

Oh,  dearer  than  ever  it  seems  to  be, 

As  I  muse  on  the  shore  of  the  murmuring  sea. 

Murmuring  sea  !  beautiful  sea  !  etc. 


46 


Jessie,  the  Flower  o9  Dumblane. 

The  sun  has  gone  down  on  the  lofty  Ben  Lomond, 
And  left  the  red  clouds  to  preside  o'er  the  scene; 

While  lonely  I  stray  in  the  calm  summer  gloaming, 
To  muse  on  sweet  Jessie,  the  flower  o'  Dumblane. 

How  sweet  is  the  briar,  wi'  its  soft  foulding  blossom, 
And  sweet  is  the  birck  wf  its  mantle  o'  green ; 

Yet  sweeter  and  fairer,  and  dear  to  this  bosom 
Is  lovely  young  Jessie,  the  flower  o'  Dumblane. 

She's  as  modest  as  any,  and  blithe  as  she's  bonnie, 
For  guileless  simplicity  marks  her  its  ain  ; 

And  far  be  the  villain,  divested  o'  feeling, 

Who'd  blight  in  its  bloom  the  sweet  flower  o'Dumblane 

Sing  on,  thou  sweet  mavis,  thy  hymns  to  the  evening, 
Thou'rt  dear  to  the  echoes  6'  Calderwood  glen, 

So  dear  to  this  bosom,  so  artless  and  winning 
Is  charming  young  Jessie,  the  flower  o'  Dumblane. 

How  lost  were  my  days,  till  I  met  wi'  my  Jessie, 
The  sports  of  the  city  seemed  foolish  and  vairj^ 

I  ne'er  saw  a  nymph  I  could  call  my  dear  lassie, 
Till  charmed  wi'  sweet  Jessie,  the  flower  a'  Dumblane. 

Though  mine  was  the  station  of  loftiest  grandeur, 
Amidst  its  profusion  I'd  languish  in  pain  ; 

And  reckon  as  nothing  the  height  o'  its  splendor, 
If  wanting  sweet  Jessie,  the  flower  o'  Dumblane. 


I  know  a  Pair  of  Hazel  Eyes. 

I  know  a  pair  of  hazel  eyes 

So  tender  and  so  bright, 
That  I  could  sit  a  livelong  day, 

And  gaze  upon  their  light. 
How  would  my  heart  impulsive  beat 

If,  when  on  mine  they  rove, 
Those  hazel  eyes  should  give  to  me 

A  single  look  of  love. 
I  know  a  pair  of  rosy  lips, 

Whose  smile  is  so  divine, 


_J7 

That  I  would  give  the  world,  to  press 

Them  fervently  to  mine. 
How  would  my  soul'  dilate  with  joy 

If,  when  to  speak  to  move, 
Those  rosy  lips  should  say  to  me 

A  single  word  of  love. 

I  know  a  pair  of  snowy  arms, 

And  what  delight  were  mine, 
If  roimd  my  neck  one  fond  embrace 

Those  snowy  arms  should  twine. 
The  look,  the  word,  the  fond  embrace, 

So  dear  to  me  would  prove, 
That  earth,  enchanted,  would  appear 

A  paradise  of  love. 


Call  Me  not  Back  from  the  Echoless  Shore. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Satttfr  &  Thompson,  Music  Publishers, 
69  Fulton  avenue,  Brooklyn,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Why  is  your  forehead  deep  furrowed  with  care  ? 
What  has  so  soon  mingled  frost  in  your  hair  ? 
Why  are  you  sorrowful?  why  do  you  weep? 
Why  do  you  ask  me  to  rock  you  to  sleep  ? 
Could  you  but  see  through  this  world's  vail  of  tears, 
Light  would  your  sorrows  be,  harmless  your  fears, 
All  that  seems  darkness  to  you  would  be  light, 
All  would  be  sunshine  where  now  is  but  night. 
Chorus— Follow  me  cheerfully,  pray,  do  not  weep, 

In  spirit  I'll  soothe  you  and  rock  you  to  sleep. 

Why  would  you  backward  with  time  again  turti  t 
Why  do  you  still  for  your  childhood's  days  yearn? 
Weary  one,  why  through  the  past  again  roam, 
While  in  the  future  the  path  leads  you  home? 
Oh,  dearest  child,  diy  those  tears,  weep  no  more, 
Call  me  not  back  from  the  echoless  shore ; 
Follow  me  cheerfully,  pray,  do  not  weep, 
In  spirit  I'll  soothe  you  and  rock  you  to  sleep. 
Chorus— Follow  me  cheerfully,  pray,  do  not  weep, 

In  spirit  Til  soothe  you  and  rock  you  to  sle^p, 

Lullaby,  lullaby,  lullaby. 

Sleep,  sleep,  sleep,  oh,  sleep. 


48 


Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 

A  soldier  of  the  Legion 

Lay  dying,  at  Algiers  ; 
There  was  lack  of  woman's  nursing, 

There  was  dearth  of  woman's  tears ; 
But  a  comrade  stood  before  him, 

While  his  life-blood  ebbed  away, 
And  bent  with  pitying  glances 

To  hear  what  he  might  say. 
The  dying  soldier  faltered 

As  he  took  that  comrade's  hand, 
And  he  said,  "  I  never  more  shall  see 

My  own,  my  native  land  ; 
Take  a  message  and  a  token 

To  some  distant  friends  of  mine  ; 
For  I  was  born  at  Bingen, 

Fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 
*  Tell  my  brothers  and  companions, 

When  they  meet  and  crowd  around 
To  hear  my  mournful  story, 

In  the  pleasant  vineyard  ground, 
That  we  fought  the  battle  bravely, 

And  when  the  day  was  done, 
3?ull  many  a  corse  lay  ghastly  pale 

Beneath  the  setting  sun ; 
And  midst  the  dead  and  dying, 

Were  some  grown  old  in  wars, 
The  death-wound  on  their  gallant  brea^ 

The  last  of  many  scars ; 
But  some  were  young,  and  suddenly 

Beheld  life's  morn  decline, 
And  one  had  come  from  Bingen, 

From  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 


49 


"Tell  my  mother  that  her  other  sons* 

Shall  comfort  her  old  age ; 
And  I  was  still  a  truant  bird, 

That  thought  his  home  a  cage ; 
For  my  father  was  a  soldier, 

And  even  as  a  child 
My  heart  leaped  forth  to  hear  him  tell 

Of  struggles  fierce  and  wild  ; 
And  when  he  died  and  left  us 

To  divide  his  scanty  hoard, 
I  let  them  take  whate'er  they  would, 

But  kept  my  father's  sword ; 
And  with  boyish  love  I  hung  it 

Where  the  bright  light  used  to  shint, 
On  the  cottage  wall  at  Bingen, 

At  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 

"  Tell  my  sister  not  to  weep  for  me, 

And  sob  with  drooping  head 
"When  the  troops  are  marching  home  again, 

"With  glad  and  gallant  tread ; 
But  look  upon  them  proudly, 

With  a  calm  and  steadfast  eye, 
For  her  brother  was  a  soldier, 

And  not  afraid  to  die. 
And  if  a  comrade  seek  her  love, 

I  ask  her  in  my  name, 
To  listen  to  him  kindly, 

Without  regret  or  shame, 
And  hang  the  old  sword  in  its  plaoa 

(My  father's  sword  and  mine,) 
For  the  honor  of  old  Bingen, 

Dear  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 


50 


"  There's  another,  not  a  sister — 

In  the  happy  days  gone  by, 
You'd  have  known  her  by  the  merriment 

That  sparkled  in  her  eye  ; 
Too  innocent  for  coquetry, 

Too  fond  for  idle  scorning — 
Oh !  friend,  I  fear  the  lightest  heart 

Makes  sometimes  heaviest  mourning ! 
Tell  her  the  last  night  of  my  life — 

For  ere  the  morn  be  risen 
My  body  will  be  out  of  pain, 

My  soul  be  out  of  prison — 
I  dreamed  I  stood  with  her, 

And  saw  the  yellow  sunlight  shine 
On  the  vine-clad  hills  of  Bingen, 

Fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 

I  saw  the  blue  Rhine  sweep  along ; 

I  heard  or  seemed  to  hear 
The  German  songs  we  used  to  sing, 

In  chorus  sweet  and  clear, 
And  down  the  pleasant  river, 

And  up  the  slanting  hill 
The  echoing  chorus  sounded 

Through  the  evening  calm  and  still ; 
And  her  glad  blue  eyes  were  on  me, 

As  we  passed  with  friendly  talk, 
Down  many  a  path  beloved  of  yore, 

And  well-remembered  walk ; 
And  her  little  hand  lay  lightly, 

Confidingly  in  mine — 
But  we'll  meet  no  more  at  Bingen, 

Loved  Bingen  on  the  Rhine." 


51 

His  voice  grew  faint  and  hoarser 

His  grasp  was  childish  weak, 
His  eyes  put  on  a  dying  look, 

He  sighed  and  ceased  to  speak; 
His  comrade  bent  to  lift  him, 

But  the  spark  of  life  had  fled — 
The  soldier  of  the  Legion 

In  a  foreign  land  was  dead  ! 
And  the  soft  moon  rose  up  slowly, 

And  calmly  she  looked  down 
On  the  red  sand  of  the  battle-field 

"With  bloody  corses  strewn — 
Yes,  calmly  on  that  dreadful  scene, 

Her  pale  light  seemed  to  shine 
As  it  shone  on  distant  Bingen, 

Fair  Bingen  on  the  Rhine. 


I  Know  my  Mother  Weeps  for  Me. 

Copied  by  permission  ofSAWTER&THOjrpgox.  Music  Publishers 
69  Fultou  avenue,  Brooklyn,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

'Twas  on  a  balmy  summer  night, 

As  I  lay  gazing  at  the  stars, 
And  thinking  of  the  hearts  once  light, 

That  I  had  left  ^o  join  the  wars. 
And  of  a  mother  far  away, 

With  step  so  feeble,  cheek  so  pale, 
My  thoughts  then  dwelt  upon  the  day 
I  left  her,  as  she  said,  M  Farewell." 
Choktjs— I  know  my  mother  weeps  for  me, 

When  all  the  world  is  hushed  in  sleep ; 
Oh,  soon  may  we  the  hour  see, 

When  mother  need  no  longer  weep. 


52 


And  as  the  midnight  hour  drew  near, 

I  fell  asleep,  and  presently 
I  dreamed  I  saw  my  mother  dear, 

With  open  arms  to  welcome  me. 
She  could  not  speak,  but  oh,  those  tears 

That  lingered  in  her  joyful  eyes, 
Bespoke  much  more,  by  far,  than  lip 

Could  utter  to  her  darling  boy. 

I  thought  she  clasped  me  to  her  heart, 

Impressed  a  kiss  upon  my  brow, 
And  bade  her  sorrows  all  depart, 

For  nought  but  joy  is  with  her  now. 
The  daylight  broke,  and  with  it  came 

Sadly  the  truth,  'twas  but  a  dream  1 
Dear  mother,  weep  no  more  in  vain, 

While  we  our  native  land  redeem. 


I  know  my  mother  weeps  for  me, 

When  all  the  world  is  hushed  in  sleep ; 
Oh,  soon  may  we  the  hour  see, 

When  mother  need  no  longer  weep. 
Soon  may  our  glorious  stars  and  stripes, 

That  blood-bought  banner  of  the  free, 
Wave  proudly  forth  from  eve^y  height, 

Proclaiming  peace  and  liberty. 

CHORUS. 

I  know  my  mother  weeps  for  me, 

When  all  the  world  is  hushed  in  sleep ; 

Oh,  soon  may  we  the  hour  see, 

When  mother  need  no  longer  weep. 


33 


Kiss  Me,  Darling,  ere  we  Sever. 

Copied bv permission  of  Olivef.  Ditson  &Cq.%  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street.  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Kiss  me,  darling,  ere  we  sever, 

Ere  I  journey  life's  bleak  plain, 
For  on  earth,  I  never,  never, 

May  behold  thy  face  again. 
But  thy  smile  so  sweet  and  winning, 

And' thy  voice  so  soft  and  low, 
Still  shall*  keep  my  heart  from  sinning, 

And  my  soul  as  pure  as  snow. 

I  would  linger,  oh,  how  gladly, 

In  thy  much-loved  presence  yet, 
But  each  moment  tells  me  sadly 

That  'tis  better  to  forget ; 
Kot  forget  thy  love  and  beauty, 

Xor  thy  kind  and  winsome  ways, 
For  no  blighted  hope  nor  duty 

Bids  me'eease  to  give  them  praise. 

But  the  hopes  I  long  have  cherished, 

Xow  like  autumn  leaves  are  sere, 
Like  the  flowers  of  spring  they  perished, 

In  the  springtime  of  their  year. 
Naught  is  left  me  but  to  sever 

From  the  scene  of  all  my  pain ; 
Kiss  me,  darling,  for  I  never 

May  behold  thy  face  again. 


The  Answer  of  Ben  Bolt. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lkf:  &  Walker,   Music  Publisher*, 
722  Chestnut  street,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Ah,  yes.  I  remember  that  name  with  delight, 

Sweet  Alice,  so  cherished  and  dear ; 
I  seek  her  bower  in  the  pale  hour  of  night, 

And  moisten  the  turf  with  a  tear; 
And  there,  when  the  heart  is  o'erburdened  with  woes, 

I  wander  and  muse  all  alone, 
And  long  for  the  time  when  my  head  shall  repose 

Where  u  sweet  Alice  lies  under  the  stone." 


54 


i 


I  roam  through  the  wood  where  so  joyous  we  strayed, 

And  recline  on  the  green  sunny  hill ; 
All  things  are  as  bright  in  that  beautiful  glade, 

But  my  heart  is  all  lonely  and  chill. 
The  hand  that  so  fondly  I  pressed  then  in  mine, 

And  the  lips  that  were  melting  in  love, 
Are  cold  in  the  grave,  and  I'm  left  to  repine 

Till  I  meet  with  sweet  Alice  above. 

All,  well  I  remember  the  schoolhcuse  and  brook, 

"  And  the  master  so  kind  and  so  true," 
The  wild  blooming  flowers  in  the  cool,  shady  nook, 

So  fragrant  with  incense  and  dew. 
But  I  weep  not  for  these,  though  so  dear  to  my  heart, 

Nor  the  friends  that  have  left  us  alone ; 
The  bosom  will  heave,  and  the  tear-drops  will  start, 

For  "  sweet  Alice  lies  under  the  stone." 


Jennie  Junea 


Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
563  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Did  you  see  dear  Jennie  June, 
When  the  meadows  were  in  tune, 
With  the  birds  among  the  bowers 
In  the  sweet  summer  time  ? 
You  would  love  her  I  am  sure, 
For  her  heart  is  warm  and  pure, 
And  as  guileless  as  the  flowers 
In  the  sweet  summer  time. 
Chorus — Did  you  see  dear  Jennie  June,  etc 

All  the  robins  cease  their  song, 

As  she  gayly  speeds  along, 

Just  to  listen  to  her  singing 

In  the  sweet  summer  time. 

And  her  modest,  beaming  eyes 

Are  the  color  of  the  skies, 

Many  pleasant  fancies  bringing, 

Li  the  sweet  summer  time.         (Chorus.) 

With  my  darling  Jermie  June, 
When  the  meadows  are  in  tune, 


55 


How  I  love  to  go  a  roving, 

In  the  sweet  summer  time. 

While  her  presence  seems  to  be 

Like  a  ray  of  light  to  me, 

For  she's  ever  fond  and  loving, 

In  the  sweet  summer  time.         (Chorus.) 


Tell  Mother  I  Die  Happy. 

Copied   by   permission    of   S.   T.  Gordon,   Music   Publisher 
538  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

I  am  dying,  comrades,  dying, 

As  you  bear  me,  lightly  tread ; 
Soon,  ah,  soon  I  shall  be  lying 

With  the  silent,  sleeping  dead. 
I  am  dying,  comrades,  dying, 

Still  thebattle  rages  near, 
Tell  me,  are  our  foes  a  flying  ? 
I  die  happy,  mother  dear. 
CnOBUS — Tell  my  mother  I  die  happy, 

That  for  me  she  must  not  weep ; 
Tell  her  how  I  longed  to  kiss  hec> 
Ere  I  sunk  in  death  to  sleep. 

I  am  going,  comrades,  going, 

See  how  damp  my  forehead's  now, 
Oh,  I  see  the  angels  coming, 

With  bright  garlands  for  my  brow. 
Bear  this  message  to  my  mother, 

How  in  death  that  God  was  near, 
He  to  bless  and  to  support  me, 

I  die  happy,  mother  dear.       (Cnomjs.) 

Lay  me,  comrades,  'neath  the  willow, 

That  grows  on  the  distant  shore ; 
Wrap  the  starry  flair  around  me, 

I  would  press  its  folds  once  more. 
Let  the  cold  earth  be  my  pillow, 

And  the  uStais  and  Stripes"  my  shroud, 
Soon,  oh,  soon  I  shall  be  marching, 

Amid  the  heavenly  crowd.      (Chorus.) 


Alabama  Joe. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  C©.,  Mnsic  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

A  nigger  in  Alabama  lived,  dey  used  to  call  him  Joe, 
Dis  nigger  lived  to  be  so  old,  his  head  war  white  as  snow ; 
Dis  nigger,  he  war  very  rich,  de  poor  ones  liked  him  well, 
Dey  used  to  go  to  de  Alabama  house,  some  stories  for  to  tell. 

CHORUS. 
An*  strike  de  toe  and  heel,  my  lass,  an*  strike  de  heel  an'  toe, 
Miss  Phillis  am  a  waiting  for  your  Alabama  Joe. 

Dis  old  nigger  built  a  church,  a  minister  he  hired, 

Who  stayed  wid  dem  about  four  years,  and  quit  'cause  he  war 

tired ; 
Deir  minister  good  salary  got,  all  dese  niggers  know, 
De  money,  it  war  paid  to  him  by  Alabama  Joe. 

Dis  made  dese  niggers  all  feel  bad,  to  think  he  sarved  him  so, 
But  de  one  de  shock  fell  worst  upon  was  Alabama  Joe  ; 
In  a  few  years  after  dis  de  good  old  nigger  died, 
He  left  three  niggers,  all  he  had,  and  Miss  Phillissy,  kis  bride. 

His  money  he  did  will  away  to  Phillissy,  his  spouse, 
Which  caused  great  disturbance  at  dis  old  nigger's  house; 
Miss  Phillissy  had  him  buried  all  under  an  old  tree, 
And  after  dey  had  buried  him,  de  niggers  had  a  spree. 

A  nigger  in  Virginia  lived,  who  heard  of  old  Joe's  death, 
And  straight  for  Alabama  steered,  and  never  stopped  for  breath 
He  quick  made  love  to  Phillissy,  who  was  a  charming  fair, 
Her  eyes  were  bright  as  diamonds,  and  curly  war  her  hair. 

Dis  nigger  war  a  fisherman,  a  fisherman  ob  old, 
A  fishing  he  did  go  one  night  and  caught  a  beautiful  cold ; 
Dis  nigger  lived  in  great  harmony,  and  age  did  make  him  pine, 
For  she  was  only  twenty-three,  and  he  war  ninety-nine. 

Dis  story  dat  I  now  relate,  as  a  good  old  nigger  said, 
He  went  one  morning  to  deir  house,  and  found  dis  couple  dead ; 
Now  Miss  Phillissy  she  is  dead,  Old  Joe  he  went  before, 
De  oder  niggers  hab  gone,  too,  we  shall  see  dem  no  more. 


Love  me  Little,  Love  me  Long. 

Say  not,  life  is  dark  and  dreary, 

While  around  us  flow'rets  bloom; 
All  is  bright  where  love  abideth, 

His  fond  smiles  can  all  illume. 
Is  there  not  a  spell  in  beauty, 

Bow  we  not  before  her  shrine? 
Is  the  coldest  heart  not  wakened 

By  the  power  of  song  divine? 
Chokcs — Then  no  more  be  sad  and  weary, 

When  amid  the  world's  cold  throng, 
If  thou  hear'st  one  soft  voice  whisper: 
"Love  me  little,  love  me  long." 

Yes,  'tis  love  can  soothe  and  cheer  us, 

Down  the  thorny  vale  of  life; 
Better  far  a  peaceful  cottage, 

Than  a  palace  full  of  strife. 
I  am  happy  while  fate  leaves  me, 

One  kind  heart  to  warmly  prize, 
While  the  light  of  pure  affection 

Beams  within  those  gentle  eyes.    (Cnoacs.) 


I  Love  the  Merry  Sunshine. 

I  love  the  merry,  merry  sunshine, 

It  makes  the  heart  so  gay, 
To  hear  the  sweet  birds  singing 

On  their  summer  holiday. 
With  their  wild-wood  notes  of  duty, 

From  hawthorn,  bush  and  tree, 
Oh,  the  sunshine  is  all  beauty — 

Oh,  the  merry,  merry  sun  for  me. 
Chorus — I  love  the  meny,  merry  sunshine, 

I  love  the  merry,  merry  sunshine, 

Thiough  the  dewy  morning's  shower, 
With  its  rosy  smiles  advancing, 

Like  a  beauty  from  her  bower. 
It  charms  the  soul  in  sadness, 

It  sets  the  spirits  free; 
Oh,  the  sunshine  is  all  gladness — 

Oh,  the  merry,  merry  sun  fur  me. 


58 


Katie  Bell, 


Copied   by   permission    of   S.   T.   Gordon,   Music   Publisher, 
538  Broadway,.  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 
Going  down  the  shady  dell, 

Where  the  honeysuckles  grow 
I  met  lovely  Katie  Bell, 

With  her  dimpled  cheeks  aglow ; 
Oh,  the  beauties  of  her  face, 
As  she  flitted  by  apace, 
With  a  step  of  fairy  grace, 
My  poor  words  can  never  tell. 
Cnonus.— Katie  Bell,  in  the  dell, 

How  I  love  her  none  can  tell. 

All  the  flowers  in  the  dell 

Seemed  to  own  her  for  their  queen, 

Bright  and  peerless  Katie  Bell, 
Fairer  flower  was  never  seen. 

How  I  loved  the  very  ground 

Over  which  she'd  lightly  bound, 

With  her  sunny  ringlets  crowned, 
I  can  never,  never  tell.  (Chorus.) 

Long  I  waited  in  the  dell, 

Where  the  honeysuckles  grow, 

Waited  for  sweet  Katie  Bell, 
Till  the  sun  was  sinking  low ; 

And  before  I  left  her  side, 

In  the  quiet  eventide, 

I  had  won  her  for  my  bride, 
Won  my  bonnie  Katie  Bell.       (Chorus.) 


Oh,  I  shall  wear  a  Uniform. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
5G3  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  I  shall  wear  a  uniform, 

And  march  away  to  war, 
To  bravely  meet  the  enemy, 

Until  the  strife  is  o'er. 
They  say  I  shall  be  furnished  arms, 

No  legs  do  they  provide, 


Although  they  would  of  service  prove 
If  rank  and  file  divide. 
Chorus. — Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
Oh,  I  shall  wear  a  uniform, 
And  march  away  to  war. 

Oh,  I  shall  wear  a  uniform, 

And  soon  become  renowned, 
And  quartered  in  the  army  be, 

To  keep  my  body  sound ; 
For  if  I  should  but  single  go, 

I  might  become  in  two  ; 
Or,  take  to  legs  instead  of  arms, 

As  foes  to  freedom  do.  (Chorus.) 

Oh,  I  shall  wear  a  uniform, 

And  be  a  soldier  bold  ; 
I  thought  it  best  to  get  me  one, 

The  draft  might  give  me  cold. 
So  now  I  shall  be  warmly  clad, 

And  in  convincing  style, 
I'll  teach  the  foe  that  stars  and  stripes 

They  never  shall  defile.  (Chorus.) 


Make  Me  no  Gaudy  Chaplet, 

Make  me  no  gaudy  chaplet, 

Weave  it  in  simple  flowers, 
Seek  them  in  lowly  valleys, 

After  the  gentle  showers. 
Bring  me  no  dark  red  roses, 

Gay  in  the  sunshine  glowing ; 
Bring  me  the  pile  moss  rose-bud 

Beneath  the  fresh  leaves  growing. 

Bring  not  the  proud -eyed  blossom, 

Darling  of  the  eastern  daughters; 
Bring  me  the  snowy  lily, 

Floating  on  silent  waters. 
Gems  of  the  lowly  valley, 

Buds  which  leaves  are  shading, 
Lilies  of  peaceful  wa1 

Emblems  be  mine  unlading. 


60 


HI  tell  Nobody. 

Oh,  I  am  in  love,  but  I  won't  tell  with  who, 
For  I  know  very  well  what  the  fair  ones  would  do, 
They'd  chatter  and  flatter,  and  make  themselves  fine, 
So  poor  little  some  one  would  have  a  sad  time. 
Chorus. — So  I'll  tell  nobody,  I'll  tell  nobody, 
Nobody,  nobody,  nobody,  no  ! 
If  I  tell  it  to  one,  she  will  tell  it  to  two, 
And  the  next  cup  of  tea  they  would  plot  what  to  do  ; 
And  as  men  have  no  constancy  in  their  own  minds, 
He'd  seek  a  new  face  and  leave  some  one  behind. 
But  this  much  I'll  tell  you,  he's  not  very  tall, 
And  lest  you  should  guess  him,  he's  not  very  small ; 
I  met  him  last  night,  and  he  pikled  off  my  glove, 
So  I  think  you  may  guess  who  is  somebody's  love. 

But  when  I  am  sure  that  his  heart's  all  my  own, 
That  he  loves  sincerely,  and  never  will  roam, 
Oh,  then  I'll  defy  all  their  jeers  and  taunts, 
For,  plainly  'twill  show  what  each  of  them  wants ; 
They  all  want  somebody,  are  dying  for  somebody, 
Somebody,  somebody,  I  know  who,  etc. 


Larry's  G-ood-By. 


Copied    by   permission    of   S.  T.    Gordon,  Music  Publisher, 
538  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Brave  Larry  went  up  to  his  darling 

To  bid  her  a  speedy  good-by, 
When  bound  where  the  cannon  was  snarling, 

The  fortunes  of  battle  to  try. 
"  Sweet  Norah,"  he  said,  "  don't  be  weeping, 

I  soon  will  come  back  to  your  side, 
With  all  your  fond  love  in  my  keeping, 

And  make  you  my  beautiful  bride." 

A  thousand  times  Larry  did  kiss  her, 

Before  he  was  willing  to  go, 
For  now  he  just  felt  how  he'd  miss  her, 

When  fronting  the  ranks  of  the  foe. 


61 


My  heart  will  be  ever  the  same,  love, 

41  So,  Norah,"  he  whispered,  "  don't  sigh  ; 
I  soon  will  have  money  and  fame,  dear, 

And  then  a  nice  farm  we  will  buy." 
Fair  Norah  through  teardrops  was  blushing, 

And  spoke  between  sobbings  and  sighs, 
As  backward  her  glossy  curls  pushing, 

She  timidly  looked  in  his  eyes. 
44  Dear  Larry,  you  say  that  you're  going 

To  wed  when  you  come  from  the  war ; 
I'm  afraid  you'll  be  killed,  there's  no  knowing, 

Now,  could  we  not  marry  before?" 
Now  Larry,  how  could  he  refuse  her? 

He  saw  that  he  might  as  well  wed, 
For  if  he  was  killed  he  would  lose  her, 

So  unto  fair  Norah  he  said  : 
44  Mavourneen,  it's  truth  you've  been  saying, 

And  where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way  ; 
I  see  there's  no  use  in  delaying, 

I'll  wed  you  this  very  same  day." 


Buy  a  Broom; 

From  Teutschland  I  come  with  my  light  wares  all  laden 

To  dear,  happy  Boston,  in  summer's  gay  bloom, 
Then  listen,  fair  lady,  and  young,  pretty  maiden, 

Oh,  buy  of  the  wandering  Bavarian  a  broom. 
Buy  a  broom,  buy  a  broom,  buy  a  broom, 

Oh,  buy  of  the  wandering  Bavarian  a  broom. 
To  brush  away  insects  that  sometimes  annoy  yon, 

You'll  find  it  quite  handy  to  use  night  and  "day, 
And  what  better  exercise,  pray,  can  employ  you, 

Than  to  sweep  all  vexatious  intruders  away. 
Buv  a  broom,  buy  a  broom,  buy  a  broom, 

And  sweep  all  Vexatious  intruders  away. 
Ere  winter  comes  on,    for  sweet  home  soon  departing, 

My  toils  for  your  labors  again  I'll  resume, 
And  while  gratitude's  tear  in  my  eyelid  is  starting, 

Bless  the  time  that  in  Boston  I  cried,  buy  a  broom, 
Buy  a  broom,  buy  a  broom,  buy  a  broom, 

Bless  the  time  that  in  Boston* I  cried,  buy  a  broom, 


62 


Billie  Boy. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Oliyir  Ditson  &  Co., Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  where  have  you  been,  Billie  Boy,  Billie  Bey, 
Oh,  where  have  you  been,  charming  Billie  ? 

I  have  been  to  seek  a  wife, 

She's  the  joy  of  my  life, 
She's  a  young  thing,  and  can  not  leave  her  mother. 

Did  she  bid  you  to  come  in,  Billie  Boy,  Billie  B#y, 
Did  she  bid  you  to  come  in,  charming  Billie  ? 
Yes,  she  bid  me  to  come  in, 
There's  a  dimple  in  her  chin,  etc, 

Did  she  set  for  you  a  chair,  Billie  Boy,  Billie  Boy, 
Did  she  set  for  you  a  chair,  charming  Billie? 

Yes,  she  set  for  me  a  chair, 

She  has  ringlets  in  her  hair,  etc. 

Can  she  make  a  cherry  pie.  Billie  Boy,  Billie  Boy, 
Can  she  make  a  cherry  pie,  charming  Billie  ? 
She  can  make  a  cherry  pie, 
Quick  as  a  cat  can  wink  her  eye,  etc. 

Is  she  often  seen  at  church,  Billie  Boy,  Billie  Bty, 
Is  she  often  seen  at  church,  charming  Billie  ? 
Yes,  she's  often  seen  at  church, 
With  a  bonnet  white  as  birch,  etc. 

How  tall  is  she,  Billie  Boy,  Billie  Boy  ? 
How  tall  is  she,  charming  Billie  ? 

She's  as  tall  as  any  pine, 

And  as  straight  as  a  pumpkin-vine,  etc. 

Are  her  eyes  very  bright,  Billie  Boy,  Billie  Boy, 
Are  her  eyes  very  bright,  charming  Billie  ? 
Yes,  her  eyes  are  very  bright, 
But,  alas  !  they're  minus  sight,  etc, 

How  old  is  she,  Billie  Boy,  Billie  Boy, 
How  old  is  she,  charming  Billie  Boy, 

She's  three  times  six,  four  times  seven, 

Twenty-eight  and  eleven,  etc. 


G3 

Things  that  never  Die. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Moeic  Publishers, 
5ti3  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owners  of  the  copyright 

The  pure,  the  bright,  the  beautiful, 

That  stirred  our  hearts  in  youth, 
The  impulse  to  a  worldless  prayer, 

The  dreams  of  love  and  truth ; 
The  longings  after  something  lost, 

The  spirit's  yearning  cry, 
The  striving  after  better  hopes, 

These  things  that  never  die. 
The  timid  hand  stretched  forth  to  aid 

A  brother  in  his  need, 
The  kindly  word  in  grief's  dark  hour, 

That  proves  the  friend  indeed  ; 
The  plea  for  mercy  softly  breathed 

When  justice  threatens  nigh, 
The  sorrow  of  a  contrite  heart, 

These  things  shall  never  die. 
The  memory  of  a  clasping  hand, 

The  pressure  of  a  kiss, 
And  all  the  trifles  sweet  and  frail, 

That  make  up  love's  first  bliss ; 
If.  with  a  firm,  unchanging  faith, 

And  holy  trust  and  high, 
Those  hands  have  clasped,  those  lips  have  met, 

These  things  shall  never  die. 

The  cruel  and  the  bitter  word 

That  wounded  as  it  fell, 
The  chilling  want  of  sympathy 

We  feel  but  never  tell ; 
The  ha  d  repulse  that  chills  the  heart, 

Whose  hopes  were  bounding  high, 
In  an  unfading  record  kept. 

These  things  shall  never  die. 
Let  nothing  pass,  for  every  hand 

Must  find  some  work  to  do ; 
Lose  not  a  chance  to  waken  love, 

Be  firm,  and  just,  and  true; 


G4 


So  shall  a  light  that  can  not  fade, 
Beam  on  thee  from  on  high, 

And  angel  voices  say  to  thee, 
These  things  shall  never  die. 


Rocked  in  the  Cradle  of  the  Deep. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,Music  Publish***, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep, 
I  lay  me  down  in  peace  to  sleep ; 
Secure  I  rest  upon  the  wave, 
For  thou,  oh  Lord,  hast  power  to  save; 
I  know  thou  wilt  not  slight  my  call, 
For  thou  dost  mark  the  sparrow's  fall ! 
And  calm  and  peaceful  is  my  sleep, 
Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep. 

And  such  the  trust  that  still  were  mine, 
Tho'  stormy  winds  swept  o'er  the  brine, 
Or  tho'  the  tempest's  fiery  breath 
Rousad  me  from  sleep  to  wreck  and  death, 
In  ocean  cave  still  save  with  Thee, 
The  germ  of  immortality ; 
And  calm  and  peaceful  is  my  sleep, 
Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep. 


In  the  Wild  Chamois'  Track. 

In  the  wild  chamois'  track  at  the  breaking  of  morn, 

With  a  hunter's  pride. 

O'er  the  mountain's  side, 
We  are  led  by  the  sound  of  the  Alpine  horn,' 

Tra  la  la  la  la  la  la  la  la  la. 

I  have  crossed  the  proud  Alps,  I  have  saile<J  down  the 
And  there  is  no  spot  [Rhone, 

Like  the  simple  cot, 

And  the  hill  and  the  valley  I  call  my  own, 
Tra  la  la  la  la  la  la  la  la  la. 


BEADLE'S 


Song  Book 

ISTo.ll. 

A  COLLECTION  OV  NEW  AXB  POFUUUI 

COMIC  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


' 


S03XTC3-S. 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON : 
Beadle  and  Company,  118  William  St.,  N   Y 

44  PATERNOSTER  ROW,  LONDON. 


IV  CONTENTS. 

Old  Jessy, 14 

On  the  Field  of  Battle,  Mother,  -        -        -        -  38 

On  the  Shores  of  Tennessee, 30 

Our  Country  and  Flag, 52 

Shall  we  Meet  Again  ?    - 23 

The  Bachelor's  Lament, .61 

The  Day  our  Mother  Died,        -        -        -        -  64 

The  Nation  shall  not  Die, 44 

The  Regular  Cure, 12 

The  Song  of  the  Guard,        -----  54 

The  Rhinoceros, 40 

The  Rock  beside  the  Sea, 39 

The  Virginia  Rosebud, 36 

They  Pray  for  us  at  Home,    -        -        -        -        -  18 

'Tis  Midnight  on  the  Stormy  Deep,  45 

Tom  Thumb's  Wedding, 48 

Trust  to  Luck, 40 

Was  my  Brother  in  the  Battle  ?     -        -        -        -  28 

You  Say  I  Know  not  why  I'm  Sad,  42 

Willow  Cot,    ---.----  27 

Would  I  were  with  Thee, 7 


BEADLE'S 

DIME  SONG  BOOK  No.  11. 


Grandmother  told  me  so. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  st.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  declamation  has  been  spoken, 

For  grandmother  told  me  so ; 
The  darkeys  have  got  their  fetlocks  broken, 

For  grandmother  told  me  so. 
Oh,  won't  they  have  lots  of  old  iron  on  hand? 
And  when  the  news  travels,  oh,  won't  it  be  grand  ? 
'Twill  sweep  like  a  sugar-cane  over  the  land, 

For  grandmother  told  me  so. 

CHORUS. 

American  eagle,  hysterical  bird, 

Oh,  flap  your  wings  and  crow ; 
The  slaves  are  embellished  ;  yes,  that's  the  word, 

For  grandmother  told  me  so. 

There's  curious  times  in  that  ar'  section, 

For  grandmother  told  me  so ; 
They  think  they  will  have  a  resurrection, 

For  grandmother  told  me  so. 
The  penholders  raving  like  persons  insane, 
The  darkeys  in  exodns,  raising  cane, 
And  singing  like  martingales  after  a  rain, 

For  grandmother  told  me  so.  (Chorus.) 


But  President  Abe  forgot  Kentucky, 

For  grandmother  told  me  so ; 
And  Tennessee,  too,  and  that's  unlucky,     « 

For  grandmother  told  me  so. 
Malicious  champagnes  will  be  opened  in  vain, 
Until  we  shall  break  the  last  ox-yoke  and  chain, 
Till  through  the  benighted  States  freedom  shall  reign, 

For  grandmother  told  me  so.  (Chorus.) 


Every  Household  has  its  Angel. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 
Every  household  has  its  angel, 
In  the  sweet  and  gentle  wife, 
Shedding  dews  of  love  around  her, 

Beaming  like  a  star  of  life. 
Patient  in  her  heart's  distresses, 

Loving  in  affliction's  hours, 
Constant  in  her  sorest  trials, 

Blessing  home  with  love's  fair  flowers. 
Chorus — Every  household  Jias  its  angel, 
In  the  sweet  and  gentle  wife, 
Shedding  dews  of  love  around  her, 
Beaming  like  a  star  of  life. 

Every  household  has  its  angel, 

Hovering  watchful  round  the  hearth, 
Guiding  through  the  parent's  teaching, 

Smiling  mid  the  children's  mirth. 
Whispering  to  the  baby  sleeping, 

Singing  with  the  cradle  song, 
Near  misfortune  kindly  keeping, 

Chiding  when  regret  is  wrong. 


Would  I  were  with  Thee. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Would  I  were  with  thee  every  day  and  hour, 
Which  now  I  pass  so  sadly  far  from  thee ; 
Would  that  my  form  possessed  the  magic  power 
To  follow  where  my  heavy  heart  would  be; 
Whate'er  thy  lot  o'er  land  or  sea, 
Would  I  were  with  thee  eternally. 


Would  I  were  with  thee  when,  the  world  forgetting. 

Thy  weary  limbs  upon  the  turf  are  thrown, 
While  bright  and  red  our  evening's  sun  is  setting, 
And  all  thy  thoughts  belong  tp  heaven  alone; 
While  happy  dreams  thy  thoughts  employ, 
Would  I  were  with  thee  in  thy  joy. 

Would  I  were  with  thee  when,  no  longer  feigning 

The  hurried  laugh  that  stifles  back  a  sigh, 
When  thy  young  lip  pours  forth  its  sweet  complaining, 
And  tears  have  quenched  the  light  within  thine  eye, 
When  all  seems  dark  and  sad  below, 
Would  I  were  with  thee  in  thy  woe  * 

Would  I  were  with  thee  when  the  day  is  breaking, 

And  when  the  moon  has  lit  the  lonely  sea, 
Or  when  in  crowds  some  careless  note  awaking, 
Speaks  to  thy  heart  in  memory  of  me ; 
In  joy  or  pain,  by  sea  or  shore, 
Would  I  were  with  thee  evermore ! 


10 


Och !   the  French  must  loudly  crow, 

To  find  we're  slighted  thus, 
For  they  can  ne'er  forget  the  blow 

That  was  dealt  by  one  of  us  ; 
If  the  Iron  Duke  of  Wellington 

Had  never  drawn  his  sword, 
Faith,  they  might  have  "  Napoleon  Sauce  n 

With  their  beef,  upon  my  word, 
They  think  now  of  their  hero,  dead ; 

His  name  will  never  die  ; 
Where  will  they  get  another  such, 

If  "  No  Irish  need  apply." 

Ah  !    but  now  I'm  in  the  land 

Of  the  »  Glorious  *  and  "  Free," 
And  proud  I  am  to  own  it, 

A  country  dear  to  me  ; 
I  can  see  by  your  kind  faces, 

That  you  will  not  deny 
A  place  in  your  hearts  for  Kathleen, 

And  all  Irish  may  apply. 
Then  long  may  the  Union  flourish, 

And  ever  may  it  be 
A  pattern  to  the  world, 

And  the  "  Home  of  Liberty  I" 


Dear  Mother,  call  me  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Henry  McCaffrey,  Music  Publisher, 
205  Baltimore  St.,  Baltimore,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

I  walk  abroad  throughout  the  earth, 

A  lone  and  wretched  thing, 
The  blessed  fount  of  sympathy 

Within  me  will  not  spring ; 


11 


I  languish  for  my  childhood's  home, 
For  boyhood's  sunny  track, 

I  find  this  earth  a  wilderness, 
Then,  mother,  call  me  back ; 

And  nevermore  my  feet  shall  stray, 
In  foreign  lands  to  roam ; 

I  shall  but  live,  my  mother  dear, 

For  thee,  and  love,  and  home. 

Oh,  often  have  I  sadly  gazed 

Upon  the  azure  sky, 
And  fancied  that  in  some  bright  star 

I  saw  thy  gentle  eye ; 
And  in  my  bosom's  inmost  depths, 

Soft  whisperings  would  come, 
To  tell  me  of  the  happiness 

I  once  enjoyed  at  home ; 
Then  from  the  dial  of  my  soul, 

The  shadow,  oh,  cast  back ; 
Receive  me  to  thy  arms  again, 

Dear  mother,  call  me  back. 

I've  mingled  in  the  world's  gay  scenes, 

I've  earned  myself  a  name, 
I've  entered  in  the  chase,  and  won 

That  fleeting  bauble,  fame  ; 
But  now,  dear  mother,  like  the  dove, 

That  sought  the  holy  ark, 
I  bring  to  thee  my  last  resort, 

My  time-worn,  weary  bark  ; 
It  tempts  no  more  the  waves  of  life, 

A  wreck  upon    its  foam, 
Shattered  and  torn,  it  turns  to  thee, 

Then,  mother,  call  me  home. 


u 


But  I  have  got  no  more  to  say- 
That  you  could  now  endure, 
Except,  before  I  dance  away, 
That  I'm  a  grateful  cure. 
Chorus — A  cure,  a  cure,  oh !  yes,  a  cure 
I  am  a  grateful  cure,  etc. 


Old  Jessy. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Old  Jessy  once  was  young  like  us, 

Could  ho  e  de  cotton  well ; 
But  now  he's  passing  away  from  us 

Like  de  dew-drop  on  de  hill. 
Chorus — Den  pity  poor  old  Jessy, 

And  wipe  de  tear-drop  from  your  eye, 
For  Jessy's  gwine  to  leave  us  soon, 

And  in  de  ground  to  lie. 

Old  Jessy's  hair  is  gray  and  long, 

Like  de  moss  upon  de  tree, 
And  his  teeth  drop  out  ob  de  old  jaw  bone, 

Oh,  soon  he  will  be  free. 

Old  Jessy  can't  play  de  banjo, 

His  fingers  are  stiff  and  sore; 
Dey  tremble  so  de  bones  do  crack, 

He'll  play  no  nebber  more. 

He  used  to  go  out  in  de  oyster  boat, 

Far,  far  away  from  shore, 
But  he  will  nebber  go  out  again, 

Echo  answers  nebber  more. 


15 


King  Cotton. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
723  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copjright. 

King  cotton,  we've  heard  of  thy  fame, 

And  gladly  would  hear  of  thee  more ; 
Now,  say  from  what  region  you  came, 

How  high  would  your  majesty  soar? 
Say,  where  have  you  planted  your  throne  ? 

How  far  does  your  kingdom  extend  ? 
And  art  thou  supreme  and  alone, 

To  whom  all  the  nations  must  bend  ? 


King  cotton,  art  thou  the  fair  plant, 

Which  wealth  to  our  nation  doth  bring  ? 
And  dost  thou  so  freely  now  grant 

The  right  thus  to  claim  thee  as  king  ? 
The  king  then  replied  with  a  smile, 

I  have  neither  kingdom  nor  throne ; 
Tm  lowly  and  modest  in  style, 

And  raised  by  the  darkies  alone. 

But  if  I  am  claimed  as  a  king, 

By  some  of  the  fanciful  South, 
They  hope  for  the  aid  I  may  bring, 

In  crushing  the  strength  of  the  North. 
The  ridicule  rests  not  on  me, 

But  those  that  have  set  up  their  claim ; 
Who  wish  from  the  North  to  be  free, 

And  gain  as  a  nation  high  fame. 


16 


Little  Major. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cad"^  Music  Pnbliihera, 
96  Clark  st.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

At  his  post  the  "  Little  Major  " 

Dropped  his  drum  that  battle  day  ; 
On  the  grass,  all  stained  with  crimson, 

Through  that  battle  night  he  lay, 
Crying,  u  Oh  !  for  love  of  Jesus, 
Grant  me  but  this  little  boon  ! 
Can  you,  friend,  refuse  me  water  ? 
Can  you,  when  I  die  so  soon  ?" 
Chorus — Crying,  "  Oh  !  for  love  of  Jesus, 
Grant  me  but  this  little  boon  ! 
Can  you,  friend,  refuse  me  water? 
Can  you,  when  I  die  so  soon  ?" 

There  are  none  to  hear  or  help  him  ; 

All  his  friends  were  early  fled, 
Save  the  forms,  outstretched  around  him, 

Of  the  dying  and  the  dead. 
Hush — they  come  !  there  falls  a  footstep  ! 

How  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice  ! 
They  will  help,  oh,  they  will  save  him, 

When  they  hear  his  fainting  voice — 

Now  the  lights  are  flashing  'round  him, 

And  he  hears  a  loyal  word  ; 
Strangers  they  whose  lips  pronounce  it, 

Yet  he  trusts  his  voice  is  heard. 
It  is  heard — oh  God,  forgive  them  ! 

They  refuse  his  dying  prayer ! 
"  Nothing  but  a  wounded  drummer," 

So  they  say,  ahd  leave  him  there — 


17 


See  !  the  moon  that  shone  above  him, 

Vails  her  face,  as  if  in  grief ; 
And  the  skies  are  sadly  weeping, 

Shedding  tear-drops  of  relief. 
Yet  to  die,  by  friends  forsaken. 

With  his  last  request  denied, 
This  he  felt  his  keenest  anguish, 

When,  at  morn,  he  gasped  and  died. 


Kind  Friends  are  near  Her. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  ^Tusic  Publishers, 
732  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Sleep,  noble  hero,  let  not  one  fear 
Steal  o'er  thy  brave  heart,  as  death  draws  near, 
For  in  her  sorrow,  mother  will  find 
True  hearts  around  her,  loving  and  kind. 
Though  you  have  left  her,  weeping  for  you, 
Kind  friends  are  near  her,  constant  and  true ; 
They'll  surely  cheer  her  when  you  are  gone, 
They  will  not  see  her  mourning  alone. 
Chorus — Friends  will  be  near  her,  angels  will  come, 
To  guard  and  cheer  her,  when  you  are  gone. 

Angels  will  guard  her,  by  night  and  day, 
Gently  the}T,ll  lead  her,  up  through  the  way. 
Though  friends  forsake  her,  they  will  be  there, 
Ready  to  save  her  from  dark  despair. 
Should  angels  leave  her,  still  there  is  One, 
Who  will  receive  her  when  all  are  gone ; 
One  who  will  guide  her  safe  to  that  home, 
Where  no  more  sorrow  ever  can  come. 


18 


They  Pray  for  us  at  Home. 

Copied  "by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  would  there  were  some  kind  one, 

Who,  on  this  Sabbath  day, 
Would  breathe  one  prayer  to  cheer  us, 

As  our  spirits  pass  away  ; 
If  there  only  were  some  loved  one 

To  grasp  us  by  the  hand, 
And  whisper  words  of  comfort 
As  we  leave  this  earthly  strand. 
Chorus — They  pray  for  us  at  home, 
At  morning's  early  light, 
They  pray  for  us  at  noon, 
And  in  the  silent  night. 

I  feel  that  life  is  fleeting, 

I  hear  the  fearful  roar 
Of  the  tide  that  soon  will  bear  us  out 

From  life's  receding  shore  ; 
But  I  could  go  ne'er  fearing, 

Free  from  all  doubt  and  care, 
If  some  dear  one  would  offer  up 

For  me  a  parting  prayer. 

It  was  our  country  called  us, 

We  answered  to  the  call, 
We  left  our  wives  and  children  dear, 

To  conquer  or  to  fall ; 
And  now  that  death  is  near  us, 

Why  need  we  fear  its  gloom  ? 
For  we  shall  wake  victorious, 

Beyond  the  silent  tomb. 


19 

My  Country  so  Dear. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Let:  A  Walker.  Music  Publishers, 
7"2J  Chestuui  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

My  country  so  dear,  I  viewed  with  delight, 

Abounding  in  wealth,  and  peerless  m  might ; 

When  lo,  a  dark  cloud  did  evil  portray ! 

In  vision  I  saw  a  terrible  day, 

And  forth  to  my  gaze,  with  pomp  and  with  pride, 

A  demon  of  war  his  charger  did  ride ; 

Who  said,  as  he  raised  his  conquering  hand, 

"  I'll  spread  cruel  woes  and  death  o'er  the  land. 

Oppression  is  mine,  and  hatred  to  right, 

And  freedom  Til  crush,  with  vigor  and  might." 

The  wings  of  the  wind  his  spirit  conveyed, 

And  breasts  all  inflamed  his  summons  obeyed ; 

He  marshaled  his  hosts  o'er  hill  and  o'er  plain, 

The  sons  of  the  land  were  mangled  and  slain ; 

The  timid  with  fear  from  homesteads  did  fly, 

Fair  cities  assailed,  in  ashes  did  lie. 

He  scattered  rich  stores  and  millions  of  gold, 

And  multiplied  ills,  and  sorrows  untold. 

My  country  then  mourned  o'er  hopes  that  were  fled. 

The  fate  of  the  land,  and  graves  of  the  dead. 

When  quickly  from  heaven,  an  angel  of  light 
Disarmed  the  proud  foe,  and  put  him  to  flight ; 
His  hosts  were  subdued,  they  scattered  and  fled, 
And  freedom's  strong  arms  to  victory  led. 
Then  fell  on  my  ear  this  message  of  love  : 
Thy  country's  dark  hour  a  blessing  shall  prov« ; 
For  tyranny's  power  forever  shall  cease, 
And  o'er  thee  shall  wave  the  banner  of  peace; 
In  wisdom  and  strength  thy  country  shall  be 
A  home  for  the  brave,  a  land  for  the  free. 


20 


I  wish  He'd  tell  me  Why? 

Copied  by  permission  of  H.  McCaffrey,    Music   Publisher, 
205  Baltimore  st.,  Baltimore,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

What  mysteries  are  some  young  men ! 

I  cannot  make  them  out ; 
I  wish  they'd  plainly  speak  their  minds, 

Not  keep  us  girls  in  doubt. 
They  bow,  and  blush,  and  hover  round, 

With  many  a  deep-drawn  sigh ; 
Why  don't  the  silly,  frightened  things 

Speak  out  and  tell  us  why  ? 


Just  such  a  one  is  Charlie  Brown, 

A  comely  youth  I  know, 
Who,  though  a  brave  gallant,  yet  proves 

A  chicken-hearted  beau*v 
He  haunts  my  footsteps  night  and  day, 

And  though  his  tongue's  so  shy, 
He'll  dance  or  sing  with  none  but  me — 
•  I  wish  he'd  tell  me  why. 

I  wonder  now  if  he  expects 

The  courting  I'm  to  do  ? 
I  love  him  dearly,  I  confess ; 

I  think  he  loves  me  too. 
*Tis  really  time  he  broke  the  ice ; 

To  make  him  speak  I'll  try  ; 
Instead  of  smiles  I'll  pout,  and  then, 

I  think  he'll  tell  me  why. 


rtTJrihi 


21 


Mother,  Dearest,  I  am  Coming. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Henry  McCawbey,  Music  Publisher, 
205  Baltimore  St.,  Baltimore,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Dearest  mother,  since  I  left  you 

Many  years  have  passed  away ; 
I  am  weary  of  life's  pleasures, 

I  have  found  its  idols  clay ; 
I  have  glided  with  its  current, 

Felt  its  turmoil  and  its  pain ; 
Mother,  dearest,  I  am  coming, 

Take  your  wanderer  home  again. 


I  know  that  I  have  often  grieved  you, 

You,  so  good,  so  pure  and  mild ; 
Care  has  touched  me,  it  has  changed  me, 

Fm  no  longer  weak  and  wild ; 
And  my  lonely  heart  is  pining, 

From  thy  love  no  more  I'll  roam ; 
Mother,  dearest,  I  am  coming 

To  my  childhood's  happy  home, 

You  said  your  love  would  watch  and  wait ; 

It  has  watched  and  waited  long  ; 
And  you  said  it  was  forgiving ; 

I  know  it  is  true  and  strong. 
Friends  I've  trusted  have  deceived  me, 

And  so  sadly  now  I  roam, 
Earth  has  lost  for  me  its  brightness^ 

Mother,  dear,  I'm  coming  home. 


22 


Grafted  into  the  Army. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root   &   Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
5  Clark  st.,  Chicago,  111.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Our  Jimmy  has  gone  for  to  live  in  a  tent,   " 

They  have  grafted  him  into  the  army ; 
He  finally  puckered  up  courage  and  went, 
When  they  grafted  him  into  the  army. 
I  told  them  the  child  was  too  young,  alas ! 
At  the  captain's  forequarters  they  said  he  would  pass, 
They'd  train  him  up  well  in  the  infantry  class, 
So  they  grafted  him  into  the  army. 
Chorus— Oh,  Jimmy,  farewell !  your  brother's  fell, 
'Way  down  in  Alabarmy; 
I  thought  they  would  spare  a  lone  widder's  heir, 
But  they  grafted  him  into  the  army. 

Drest  up  in  his  unicorn,  dear  little  chap, 
They  have  grafted  him  into  the  army  ; 
It  seems  but  a  day  since  he  sot  in  my  lap, 

But  they  grafted  him  into  the  army. 
And  these  are  the  trousies  he  used  to  wear, 
Them  very  same  buttons,  the  patch,  and  the  tear, 
But  Uncle  Sam  gave  him  a  bran  new  pair, 
When  they  grafted  him  into  the  army. 

Now  in  my  provisions  I  see  him  revealed, 
They  have  grafted  him  into  the  army ; 

A  picket  beside  the  contented  field, 
They  have  grafted  him  into  the  army. 

He  looks  kinder  sickish — begins  to  cry, 

A  big  volunteer  standing  right  in  his  eye  ! 

Oh,  what  if  the  ducky  should  up  and  die, 
Now  they've  grafted  him  into  the  army. 


23 


Shall  we  Meet  Again. 

Copied  bj  permission  of  Lee  &  Walkek,  Music  Publishers, 
V22  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Ever  since  from  me  you  parted, 

For  the  battle  plain  ; 
I  have  thought,  near  broken-hearted, 

Shall  we  meet  again  ? 
In  my  dreams  the  cannons  rattle, 

Flashes  light  the  sky, 
And  I  see  in  every  battle, 

Banners  floating  high. 
Chorus — Morning,  noon  and  evening, 

As  I  pine  in  vain, 
Ever  is  my  spirit  breathing, 

Shall  we  meet  again  ? 

"When  the  evening  is  revealing 

Stars  of  golden  light ; 
Or  the  rays  of  morn  come  stealing, 

From  the  passing  night : 
Even  then  I  know  no  gladness, 

And  I  mourn  in  vain, 
For  my  heart  doth  ask  in  sadness, 

Shall  we  meet  again  ? 

To  thf  clouds  above  me  flying, 

Or  the  deep  blue  sky, 
To  each  object  round  me  lying, 

Breathe  I  forth  my  sigh. 
On  my  ear  no  answer  falleth, 

While  I  thus  complain ; 
And  in  vain  my  spirit  calleth, 

Shall  we  meet  again  ? 


26 


I  soon  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  take  a  wife ; 
For  she  could  save  my  cash,  and  I  could  save  my  life. 
[  called  upon  a  friend,  I  offered  her  my  hand, 
But  she  said  "  she  couldn't  see  it,  for  she  loved  some 

other  man." 
She  told  it  to  her  ma,  and  at  me  they  both  laughed, 
And  said,  "  How  are  you,  Conscript  ?    Come  in  out  of 

the  draft." 

So  next  I  advertised,  and  soon  a  chap  I  found 
Who  said  that  he  would  go  for  just  two  hundred  down. 
I  took  him  home  to  sleep.   Says  I,  " Now  I'm  all  right;" 
But  when  I  woke,  I  found  that  he'd  robbed  me  in  the 

night ! 
I  went  and  told  the  mayor :  the  people  round  me 

laughed, 
And  said,  "  How  are  you,  Conscript  ?    Come  in  out  of 

the  draft." 

I  to  the  Provost  went,  my  "  notice"  in  my  hand  ; 
I  found  a  crowd  around,  and  with  it  took  my  stand. 
I  waited  there  till  night,  from  early  in  the  morn, 
And  when  I  got  inside,  oh,  my  pocket-book  was  gone  ! 
I  thought  I  should  go  mad  !    but  everbody  laughed, 
And  said,  "  How  are  you,  Conscript  ?    Come  in  out  of 
the  draft." 

I've  tried  to  get  a  wife,  I've  tried  to  get  a  "  sub," 
But  what  I  next  shall  do,  now,  really,  is  the  "  rub  ;" 
My  money's  almost  gone,  and  I  am  nearly  daft : 
Will  some  one  tell  me  what  to  do  to  get  out  of  the 

draft  ? 
I've  asked  my  friends  all  round,  but  at  me  they  alJ 

laughed, 
And  said,  "  How  are  you,  Conscript  ?    Come  in  out  of 

the  draft." 


27 


Willow  Got. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Miller  &  Beacham,  Music  Publishers, 
Baltimore,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Where  the  sea-waves  kiss  the  shore, 

There  a  cottage  stands ; 
Willow  branches  waving  o'er 

Flowers  and  golden  sands. 
There  a  gentle  maiden  dwells, 

Peaceful  is  her  lot ; 
While  the  ocean  billow  swells 

Round  the  Willow  Cot. 


When  a  white  sail  looms  in  sight, 

By  the  sea-breeze  fanned, 
See  that  maiden  form  so  light, 

On  the  yellow  strand. 
One  is  on  the  heaving  deep, 

Whom  she  loves  full  well ; 
In  the  visions  of  her  sleep, 

She  has  heard  his  knell ! 


Soon  a  gallant  ship  is  seen, 

And  her  anchor  cast ; 
Well  known  is  the  flag  of  green, 

Waving  from  her  mast ; 
Safe  returned,  the  sailor  seeks, 

On  the  sea-girt  spot, 
One  with  pleasure-blushing  cheeks. 

At  the  Willow  Cot. 


28 


Was  my  Brother  in  the  Battle  ? 

Copied   by  permission  of   Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  N.  Y.  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Tell  me,  tell  me,  weary  soldier, 

From  the  rude  and  stirring  wars, 
Was  my  brother  in  the  battle, 

Where  you  gained  those  noble  scars  ? 
He  was  ever  brave  and  valiant, 

And  I  know  he  never  fled, 
Was  his  name  among  the  wounded, 

Or  numbered  with  the  dead? 
Was  my  brother  in  the  battle, 

When  the  tide  of  war  ran  high  ? 
You  would  know  him  in  a  thousand, 

By  his  dark  and  flashing  eye. 
Chorus — Tell  me,  tell  me,  weary  soldier, 
Will  he  never  come  again, 

Did  he  suffer  'mid  the  wounded, 
Or  die  among  the  slain  I 

Was  my  brother  in  the  battle, 

When  the  noble  Highland  host 
Were  so  wrongfully  outnumbered, 

On  the  Carolina  coast  ? 
Did  he  struggle  for  the  Union, 

'Mid  the  thunder  and  the  rain, 
Till  he  fall  among  the  brave, 

On  a  bleak  Virginia  plain  ? 
Oh,  Fm  sure  that  he  was  dauntless, 

And  his  courage  ne'er  would  lag 
While  contending,  for  the  honor, 

Of  our  dear  and  cherished  flag.  (Chorus.) 


29 


Was  my  brother  in  the  battle, 

When  the  flag  of  Erin  came 
To  the  rescue  of  our  banner, 

And  protection  of  our  fame  ? 
While  the  fleet  from  off  the  waters, 

Poured  out  terror  and  dismay, 
Till  the  bold  and  erring  foe 

Fell  like  leaves  on  Autumn  day  ? 
When  the  bugle  called  to  battle 

And  the  cannon  deeply  roared, 
Oil !  I  wished  I  could  have  seen  him, 

Draw  his  sharp  and  glittering  sword. 


"  Mother  Kissed  Me  in  my  Dream." 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Pnblishen, 
647  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owners  of  the  copyright 

Lying  on  my  dying  bed 

Thro'  the  dark  and  silent  night, 
Praying  for  the  coming  day, 

Came  a  vision  to  my  sight : 
Near  me  stood  the  forms  I  loved, 

In  the  sunlight's  mellow  gleam  ; 
Folding  me  unto  her  breast, 

Mother  kissed  me  in  my  dream. 

Comrades,  tell  her,  when  you  write, 

That  I  did  my  duty  well ; 
Say  that  when  the  battle  raged, 

Fighting  in  the  van  I  fell ; 
Tell  her,  too,  when  on  my  bed, 

Slowly  ebbed  my  being's  stream, 
How  I  knew  no  peace  until 

Mother  kissed  me  in  my  dream. 


30 


On  the  Shores  of  Tennessee. 

Copied  by  permi8sion  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
723  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Move  my  arm-chair,  faithful  Pompey, 

In  the.  sunshine  bright  and  strong, 
For  this  world  is  fading,  Pompey, 

Massa  won't  be  with  you  long  ; 
And  I  fain  would  hear  the  south-wind 

Bring  once  more  the  sound  to  me, 
Of  the  wavelets  softly  breaking 

On  the  shores  of  Tennessee. 
Of  the  wavelets  softly  breaking, 

On  the  shores  of  Tennessee. 


Mournful  though  the  ripples  murmur, 

As  they  still  the  story  tell 
How  no  vessels  float  the  banner 

That  I've  loved  so  long  and  well ; 
I  shall  listen  to  their  music, 

Dreaming  that  again  I  sec 
Stars  and  Stripes  on  sloop  and  shallop, 

Sailing  up  the  Tennessee, 

While  the  south-wind  fondly  lingers 

'Mid  the  veteran's  silver  hair, 
While  the  bondman  close  beside  him, 

Stands  behind  the  old  man's  chair  ; 
Ha  !  above  tbe  foliage  yonder 

Something  flutters  wild  and  free  ! 
Massa !  Massa  !  Hallelujah  ! 

The  flag's  come  back  to  Tennessee. 


31 


Pompey,  hold  me  on  your  shoulder, 

Help  me  stand  on  foot  once  more, 
That  I  may  salute  the  colors, 

As  they  pass  before  my  door. 
Here's  the  paper  signed  that  frees  you, 

Give  a  freeman's  shout  with  me  ! 
God  and  Union  be  our  watchword, 

Evermore  in  Tennessee. 


I  Remember  the  Hour  when  Sadly 
we  Parted. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
702  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  remember  the  hour  when  sadly  we  parted, 

The  tears  on  your  pale  cheek  glistening  like  dew, 
When,  clasped  in  your  arms,  almost  broken-hearted, 

I  swore  by  the  bright  sky  I'd  ever  be  true. 
True  to  the  love  that  nothing  could  sever, 
And  true  to  the  flag  of  my  country  forever. 
Chorus — Then  weep  not,  love,  oh,  weep  not, 
Think  not  hopes  are  vain, 
For  when  this  fatal  war  is  over, 
We  will  surely  meet  again. 

Oh,  let  not,  my  own  love,  the  summer  winds,  winging 

Their  sweet  laden  zephyrs  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea, 
Bring  aught  to  your  heart,  with  the  autumn  birds' 
singing, 
But  hopes  for  the  future,  and  bright  dreams  of  me ; 
For  while  in  your  pure  heart  my  memory  you're 
keeping, 
I  ne'er  can  be  lonely,  while  waking  or  sleeping. 


But  if,  while  the  loud  shouts  of  victory  are  ringing, 

O'er  the  land  that  foul  traitors  have  sought  to  betray 
You  hear,  o'er  the  voices  so  joyfully  singing, 

That  he  who  so  loved  you  has  fallen  in  the  fray, 
Oh,  think  that  he's  gone  where  there's  dark  treason 
never, 
Where  tears  and  sad  partings  are  banished  forever. 
ChoRUS — Then  weep  not,  love,  oh,  weep  not, 
One  hope  is  not  vain, 
That  when  the  war  of  life  is  over, 
We  in  heaven  may  meet  again. 


My  Love  is  on  the  Battle-Field. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

My  love  is  on  the  battle-field, 

The  traitor  foe  before  him, 
His  hand  is  firm,  his  heart  is  true, 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  are  o'er  him. 
Chorus — God  grant  that  when  the  fight  is  done, 

The  ciy  shall  be,  our  cause  has  worn 

My  soul  is  in  the  battle's  din, 
For  there  are  hope  and  glory ; 

And  though  the  Union  ranks  may  thia, 
They'll  live  in  freedom's  story. 

My  love  is  in  the  battle's  front, 

Oh  !  may  no  ill  betide  him ; 
But  rather  than  a  coward  fall, 

I'd  perish  there  beside  him. 


33 


Katy  Avourneen. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  stM  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

'Twas  a  cold  winter  night  and  the  tempest  was  snarling 

The  snow  like  a  sheet  covered  cabin  and  sty, 
When  Barney  flew  over  the  hills  to  his  darlin', 

And  tapped  at  the  window  where  Katy  did  lie. 
"My  jewel,''  cried  he,  "are  ye  sleepin'  or  wakin'? 

The  night's  bitter  cold  and  my  coat  it  is  thin  ; 
Oh,  the  storm,  'tis  a  brewin',  the  frost  it  is  bakin', 

Oh,  Katy,  avourneen,  you  must  let  me  in." 

"  Arrah,  Barney,"  cried  she,  and  she  spoke  through  the 
window, 

"  Ah,  would  you  be  takin'  me  out  of  my  bed  ? 
To  come  at  this  time  it's  a  shame  and  a  sin  too, 

It's  whisky,  not  love,  that's  got  into  your  head : 
It  your  heart  it  is  true,  of  my  fame  you'd  be  tender; 

Consider  the  time  and  there's  nobody  in  ; 
And  what's  a  poor  girl  but  her  name  to  defend  her  ? 

No,  Barney,  avourneen,  I  won't  let  you  in." 

M  Ah,  cushla,"  cried  he,  "  it's  my  heart  is  a  fountain, 

That  weeps  for  the  wrong  I  might  lay  at  your  door ; 
Your  name  is  more  white  than  the  snow  on  the  mountain, 

And  Barney  would  die  to  preserve  it  as  pure ; 
I'll  go  to  my  home,  tho'  the  winter  winds  face  me, 

Til  whistle  them  off,  for  I'm  happy  within  , 
And  the  words  of  my  Kathleen  shall  comfort  and  bless 
me, 

4  Oh  Barney,  avourneen,  I  won't  let  you  in.'  " 


34 


Love's  Perfect  Cure. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  *£  Walker,  Music  Pnblisheri- 
732  Chestnut  St.,  PhiladeipL  f  the  copyright. 

Oh,  Cupid,  naughty  little  boy, 

He  trifles  with  the  fa 
And  when  he  ought  to  bring  us  joy 

He  sorrow  doth  impart. 
His  arrows  strike  so  very  deep, 
Their  pain  you  can't  endure; 
So  | :  ,  and  you  will  reap 

From  ni'.  I  ire. 

Chorus — A  cure,  a  cure,  a  perfect  cure, 
Oh,  yes  !  a  certain  cure ; 
So,  ladies,  listen,  and  receive 
From  me  a  perfect  cure. 


If  to  a  ball  you  hap  to  go, 

And  you  should  chance  see  there, 
A  handsome,  well-shaped,  six-foot 

Of  manners  truly  rare, 
Before  you  fall  in  love  too  rash, 

About  his  means  be  sure ; 
For  if  he  has  neither  land  nor  cash, 

That  ought  to  be  a  cure. 


Another  begs  with  him  you'll  taste 

The  matrimonial  cup ; 
Perchance  from  shoulder  to  the  waist 

He's  only  a  make-up. 
If  information  you  would  win, 

If  his  plump  legs  are  pure, 
If  his  calves  will  only  bear  a  pin, 

For  you  'twill  prove  a  cure. 


uncouth  and  rough, 
Thu  or  plan; 

And  then  a  lover  who  takes  snuff 
Is  not  a  pleasant  man. 

fellow  may  not  be  amiss, 
Good  looking,  rich,  demure ; 
E;;  should  he  sneeze  when  he  would  kLas, 
Why  that  would  be  a  cure. 

A  man  who  gambles  never  should  gain 

A  woman's  fond  regards ; 
For  when  at  home  he  should  remain, 

He's  off  to  dice  or  cards. 
H3b  thoughts  are  how  of  trumps  the  ace 

At  whist  he  may  secure ; 
80  'gainst  a  gambler  set  your  face, 

And  that  will  proye  a  cure. 

Don't  throw  yourself  away  for  gold ; 

You  may  buy  gold  too  dear ; 
Don't  choose  a  husband  that's  too  old, 

Or  Fate  may  proye  severe  j 
His  temper  study  well,  before 

Your  heart  he  doth  allure ; 
And  if  kindness  he  hath  not  in  storm, 

Why  let  that  be  your  cure. 

The  sort  of  man  I  would  advise 

Agirl  of  sense  to  find, 
Is  one  who  a  good  wife  can  prize, 

Both  sensible  and  kind. 
The  troubles  of  this  life  above, 

ver  rich  nor  poor  j 
0~  such  a  one  bestow  your  love; 

'Twill  prove  a  perfect  cure. 


The  Virginia  Bosebud. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  had  a  rosebud  in  my  garden  growing, 

A  plant  I  cherished  with  a  father's  care; 
When  other  darkies  round  that  plant  was  hoeing, 

Its  zefferessence  seemed  to  fill  the  airt 
Oh,  how  I  watched  that  little  plant  while  creeping, 

She,  like  her  mother,  always  light  and  gay; 
One  night  I  left  her  in  her  bed  a  sleeping, 
And  in  the  morning  she  was  stole  away. 
Chorus — Dey  stole,  dey  stole,  dey  stole  dis  child  away, 
Dey  stole,  dey  stole,  dey  stole  dis  child  away. 
Oh  hear  me  now  calling, 
Oh  hear  me  I  pray,     • 

My  heart,  my  heart,  is  breaking  for  my  child, 
For  my  child  dey  stole  away. 
Oh !  oh !  oh  !  hear  dat  voice  ! 
Oh  !  oh  1  oh !  hear  dat  voice  ! 
I  hear  dar  hoofs  upon  de  hill, 
I  hear  dem  fainter,  fainter  still 
Dey  stole,  etc. 

Oh  then  this  heart  was  withered  and  dejected; 

I  wandered  through  the  fields,  but  all  in  vain ; 
And  every  plant  on  me  a  shade  reflected, 

The  tears  they  fell  around  me  like  the  rain. 
The  sun  above  looked  down  upon  my  sorrow. 

My  heart  was  withered,  I  sought  for  her  in  vain ; 
My  child  was  stole,  was  lost  to  me  forever, 

I  never  saw  that  angel  form  again  . 


p 


37 


A  Curious  Circumstance. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

As  once  I  was  walking  o'er  mead  and  lea, 

A  curious  circumstance  happened  to  me : 

A  huntsman  I  saw  in  the  forest's  break, 

He  rode  up  and  down  beside  a  lake ; 

And  many  a  deer  flew  past  the  spot, 

But  what  did  the  huntsman  ?   he  shot  them  not ; 

He  blew  his  horn  by  the  forest  green, 

Now  tell  me,  good  people,  what  could  that  mean  ? 


And  as  I  walked  on  along  the  shore, 

A  curious  circumstance  happened  once  more 

In  a  little  bark  a  fisher-maid 

Rowed  o'er  by  the  side  of  the  forest  glade ; 

In  the  twilight  the  fishes  around  her  shot, 

But  what  did  the  maiden  ?  she  caught  them  not ; 

She  sung  a  song  by  the  forest  green, 

Now  tell  me,  good  people,  what  could  that  mean  ? 

Retracing  my  steps  at  evening^  fan, 

The  most  curious  circumstance  happened  of  all : 

A  riderless  horse  stood  in  the  break, 

An  empty  skiff  reposed  on  the  lake  ; 

And  passing  the  grove  of  alders  there, 

What  heard  I  therein  ?  a  whispering  pair ; 

The  moon  shone  brightly,  the  night  was  serene, 

Now  tell  me,  good  people,  what  could  that  mear  ? 


38 


On  the  Field  of  Battle,  Mother. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  "Walker,  Music  Publishers 
722  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

On  the  field  of  battle,  mother, 

All  the  night  alone  I  lay, % 
Angels  watching  o'er  me,  mother 

Till  the  breaking  of  the  day. 
I  lay  thinking  of  you,  mother, 

And  the  loving  ones  at  home, 
Till  to  our  dear  cottage,  mother, 

Boy  again,  I  seemed    to  come. 

He  to  whom  you  taught  me,  mother, 

On  my  infant  knee  to  pray, 
Kept  my  heart  from  fainting,  mother, 

When  the  vision  passed  away. 
In  the  gray  of  morning,  mother, 

Comrades  bore  me  to  the  town ; 
From  my  bosom,  tender  fingers 

Washed  the  drops  that  trickled  down. 

I  must  soon  be  going,  mother, 

Going  to  the  home  of  rest ; 
Kis3  me  as  of  old,  my  mother, 

Press  me  nearer  to  your  breast 
Would  I  could  -repay  you,  mother, 

For  your  faithful  love  and  care ; 
God  uphold  and  bless  you,  mother, 

In  this  bitter  woe  you  bear. 

Kiss  for  me  my  little  brother, 
Kiss  my  sisters,  loved  so  well, 

When  you  sit  together,  mother. 
Tell  them  how  their  brother  fell. 


~~V 


u 


Tell  to  them  the  story,  mother, 
When  I  sleep  beneath  the  sod, 

That  I  died  to  save  my  country, 
All  from  love  to  her  and  God. 

Leaning  on  the  merit,  mother, 

Of  the  One  who  died  for  all, 
Peace  is  in  my  bosom,  mother, 

Hark !  I  hear  the  angels  call ! 
Don't  you  hear  them  singing,  mother? 

Listen  to  the  music's  swell  1 
Now  I  leave  you,  loving  mother ; 

God  be  with  you ;  fare  you  well f 

The  Rock  beside  the  Sea." 


Copied  by  permission  of  Lee   &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  tell  me  not  the  woods  are  fair, 

Now  spring  is  on  her  way; 
Well,  well  I  know  how  brightly  there 

In  joy  the  youug  leaves  play; 
How  sweet,  on  winds  of  morn  or  eve, 

The  violet's  breath  may  be, 
Yet  ask  me,  woo  me  not  to  leave 

My  lone  rock  by  the  sea. 

The  wild  waves'  thunder  on  the  shore, 

The  curlew's  restless  cries, 
Unto  my  watching  heart  are  more 

Than  all  earth's  melodies. 
Come  back,  my  ocean  rover,  come! 

There's  but  one  place  for  me, 
Till  I  can  greet  thy  swift  sail  home— 

My  lone  rock  by  the  sea ! 


40 


"Trust  to  Luck." 


Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Trust  to  luck,  trust  to  luck,  and  stare  fate  in  the  face, 
Sure  your  heart  must  be  aizy  if  it's  in  the  right  place ; 
Let  the  world  wag  awry,  and  your  friends  turn  to  foes, 
When  your  pockets  are  dry  and    threadbare    your 

clothes; 
Should  woman  deceive  you,  when  you've  trusted  her 

heart, 
Ne'er  sigh,  'twon't  relieve  you,  but  add  to  the  smart. 
Trust  to  luck,  trust  to  luck,  and  stare  fate  in  the  face, 
Sure  your  heart  must  be  aizy,  if  it's  in  the  right  place. 

Trust  to  luck,  trust  to  luck,  and  stare  fate  in  the  face, 
Sure  your  heart  must  be  aizy  if  it's  in  the  right  place ; 
Let  the  wealthy  look  grand,  and  the  proud  pass  you  by, 
With  a  back  of  the  fist  and  disdain  in  their  eye ; 
Snap  your  ringers  and  smile,  let  them  pass  on  their  way, 
And  remember  the  white  every  dog  has  his  day. 
Trust  to  luck,  trust  to  luck,  and  stare  fate  in  the  face, 
Sure  your  heart  must  be  aizy,  if  it's  in  the  right  place. 


The  Rhinoceros. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Lee.  <fc  Walker,  Music  Publishers 
72a  Chestnut  at.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  have  you  seen  them  curious  beasts,  the  Rhionoscer- 

osses  ? 
With  horns  upon  their  noses  like  an  elephant's  proboscis? 
Oh,  yes,  in  Africa  I've  seen  them  Rhionoscerosses, 
They  catch  us  niggers  on  their  horns  and  in  the  air 

they  toss  us. 


41 


Chorus — Oh,  have  you  seen  them  curious  beasts,  the 
Rhionoscerosses  ? 

With  horns  upon  their  noses  like  an  elephant's  pro- 
boscis. 

And  is  it  true  they  rolls  in  mud  and  revels  in  morasses, 
Until  they  go  ashore  to  dry  and  feed  on  various  grasses  ? 
Oh  yes,  they're  quite  amphibious,  them  Rhionoscerosses, 
And  when  they  can't  get  nothing  else  their  grub  is  like 
a  hoss's. 

They  say  their  hides  is  all  in  folds,   as  tight  as  you  can 

bind  it, 
And  when  you  fires  a  brick  at  'em,  they  never  seems 

to  mind  it : 
They  never  cares  for  bricks  nor  sticks  nor  any  such  in- 

wention, 
And  even  treats  rewolvers  as  unworthy  of  attention. 

But  tell  me  how  the  niggers  does,  who  so  extremely 

hates  'em; 
And  of  the  methods  they  employs  all  for  to  captivate 

'em? 
They  baits  a  trap  with  sugar-cane  and  that's  the  way 

they  tree  'em, 
Then  sells  'em  to  menageries,  or  else  to  some  museum. 

So,  that's  the  way  the  niggers  catch  them  all  astound- 
in'  critters ! 

I  thought  from  wot  yoif  said  of  horns,  perhaps  they 
bit  at  bitters ! 

Sometimes  they  gives  and  takes  a  nip  if  waked  from 
their  reposes, 

But  ain't  the  only  beasts  as  shows  their  horns  upon 
their  noses. 


43 


You  Say  I  Know  not  why  Fm  Sad. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Miller  &  Beacham,  Music  Publish er§ 
Baltimore,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

My  heart  is  sad  ;  yes  !  I  know  why 

Its  chords1  are  so  unstrung  ; 
And  why  the  free,  blue  stream  has  not 

The  spell  that  o'er  it  hung ; 
'Tis  that  this  hear*,  has  ever  been 

Devoted  true  t&  thee ; 
'  Oh  !  chide  me  not  that  now  I  weep 

Thy  faithless  vows  to  fie  ! 


Did'st  thou  not  know  there  (*welt  within 

This  heart,  so  lonely  now, 
A  love  for  thee,  and  thee  alone,  ' 

Which  brightened  o'er  my  brow  ? 
That,  'mid  the  gay  and  festive  scene* 

Where  mirth  and  wit  flowed  free, 
I  coldly  turned  from  all  around, 

And  fondly  clung  to  thee  ? 


.But  now,  alas !  we  often  meet, 

And  smile  as  once  before, 
And  utter  words  of  kindness  too, 

But  not  the  words*of  yore. 
Now  that  thy  heart  which  beats  so  free, 

To  me  seems  gay  and  glad, 
Another's  voice  can  charm  thee  now, 

'Tis  this  that  makes  me  sad  1 


43 


I  Loved  that  Dear  Old  Flag  the  Best. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walkeb,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Look  within  my  kuapsack,  you  will  find  them  there, 
Pictures  of  my  mother,  and  of  sister  dear  ; 
Let  me  once  more  see  them  ere  my  life  is  past, 
Once  more  let  me  kiss  them :  it  will  be  the  last 

CHORUS, 

I  wept  when  I  bade  my  mother  adieu, 
My  sister  was  clasped  to  my  breast, 

And  they  knew  that  I  loved  them  fondly  and  true, 
But  I  loved  that  dear  old  flag  the  best ! 

Tell  them  very  gently,  when  you've  lain  me  low  : 
Should  it  come  too. roughly,  they  would  die  I  know  ; 
Tell  them  that  at  parting  I  did  sigh  for  them ; 
Tell  them  that  in  heaven  we  will  meet  again-. 

Raise  me  while  the  twilight  lingers  o'er  the  plain, 
Let  me  see  that  old  flag  floating  once  again  ; 
Let  me  see  "  its  bright  Stars  "  gleaming  in  the  sun, 
Let  me  sec  "  its  broad  Stripes  '7  ere  the  day  is  done. 

When  in  death  I'm  sleeping,  that  old  flag  shall  wave 
O'er  our  States  United,  and  o'er  treason's  grave ; 
Peace  and  plenty  smiling  o'er  each  happy  home, 
Bringing  naught  but  gladness,  in  the  days  to  oome. 

CHORUS. 

I  wept  when  I  bade  my  mother  adieu, 
My  sister  was  clasped  to  my  breast, 

Ajid  they  knew  that  I  loved  them  fondly  and  true, 
But  I  loved  that  dear  old  flag  the  best. 


44 


The  Nation  shall  not  Die. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  land  in  which  we  live,  and  love, 

Oh  !  'twas  a  happy  land, 
Before  the  rebel  sword  was  drawn 

With  fratricidal  hand ; 
And  though  the  earth  may  run  w^ith  blood 

In  many  a  well  fought  field, 
We'll  strike  while  yet  a  man  remains, 

For  freemen  never  yield ! 
Chorus — Then  raise  the  starry  banner, 

And  point  it  toward  the  sky ; 
Though  thousands  yet  may  perish, 

The  nation  shall  not  die. 

The  patriots  of  the  earlier  time 

We  never  can  forget ; 
The  hearts  so  honest  yet  sublime, 

The  soil  their  life-blood  wet ; 
The  names  that  were  immortal  made 

By  many  a  battle  won — 
No,  never,  while  the  fame  and  faith 

Descend  from  sire  to  son. 
Chorus — Then  up  the  starry  banner 

And  let  it  proudly  fly ; 
For  while  a  loyal  heart  remains, 

The  nation  shall  not  die. 

The  cause  for  which  we  speak  and  fight, 

Oh  !  'tis  a  holy  cause ; 
It  seeks  to  vindicate  the  right, 

And  freedom's  Godlike  laws ; 


45 


And  millions  yet  unborn  shall  rise 

To  bless  the  glorious  band, 
Who  grappled  with  the  deadly  foe, 
To  save  this  loyal  land ! 
Chorus — Then  raise  the  starry  banner, 
And  bear  it  proudly  high ; 
And  let  the  cry  forever  be, 
The  nation  shall  not  die 


'Tis  Midnight  on  the  Stormy  Deep. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Miller  &  Beacham.  Music  Publishers, 
Baltimore,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Tis  midnight  on  the  stormy  deep, 
My  solitary-  watch  I  keep, 
And  think  of  her  I  left  behind, 
And  ask  if  she's  still  true  and  kind ; 

When  I  was  forced  to  go  away, 
How  sweet  a  kiss  she  gave  that  day ; 
With  garlands  fair  my  hat  she  dressed, 
And  pressed  me  to  her  faithful  breast. 

One  moment  more  I  pressed  her  hand, 
One  moment  more  I  leave  the  land ; 
While  life  remains,  while  o'er  the  sea, 
I  love,  my  lady,  none  but  thee. 

The  lady  heard  his  voice  again, 
Her  gentle  breast  was  filled  With  pain  ; 
But  well  she  knew  her  lover  true, 
Was  far  upon  the  ocean  blue. 


=J 


1 


46 


My  Little  Valley  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

In  Carolina's  clime  I  spent  a  happy  time, 

With  my  gentle  Rhody  Gray ; 
In  a  little  vale  midst  the  cornfields  prime, 
Our  sweet  little  cottage  lay. 
Chorus — That  cherished  spot  is  ne'er  forgot, 
No  matter  where  I  roam ; 
Many  suns  may  set,  still  I  never  shall  forget 
That  sweet  little  valley  home. 

That  cherished  spot,  forget  it  I  shall  not, 

No  matter  where  I  roam ; 
'Twas  there  with  Rhody  many  happy  days 

I  spent  in  my  little  valley  home. 

Poor  Rhody  Gray  has  passed  away, 

'Twas  on  a  summer  night, 
Death's  icy  hand  her  spirit  took  away 

To  a  home  more  happy  and  bright. 

They  laid  her  down  in  the  cold,  cold  ground, 

Ever  sadly  now  I  roam, 
But  it  seems  to  me  still  her  form  I  see 
In  that  sweet  little  valley  home. 
Chorus — That  cherished  spot  is  ne'er  forgot, 
No  matter  wThere  I  roam  ; 
Many  suns  may  set,  still  I  never  shall  forget 
That  sweet  little  valley  home. 


Old  John  Jones. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  PuMlsker*. 
722  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  old  John  Jones  was  a  merry  old  man, 

A  merry  old  man  was  he, 
He  fell  in  love  with  a  pretty  lass, 
In  love  with  a  lass  fell  he. 
Chorus — He  fell  in  love  with  a  pretty  lass, 
In  love  with  a  lass  fell  he. 

The  lass  was  fair  and  the  lass  was  young, 
Fair  and  young  the  lass  was  she, 

But  old  John  Jones  was  a  very  old  man, 
A  very  old  man  was  he.  (Chorus.) 

And  old  John  Jones  was  ugly  as  sin, 

As  ugly  as  sin  was  he  ; 
But  he  could  dance  and  he  could  sing : 

Such  a  gay  old  man  was  he.  (Chorus.) 

Now  old  John  Jones  told  the  pretty  lass 

Greatly  in  love  was  he ; 
But  the  young  lass  boxed  the  old  man's  ears. 

And  cried  out,  u  Oh  fiddle  de  dee !"      (Cho.) 

So  old  John  Jones  was  grieved  to  the  heart, 

Oh,  very  much  grieved  was  he 
That  the  handsome  lass  has  acted  so, 

So  he"  died  quite  suddenly.  1 

Cnosus— He  fell  in  love  with  a  pretty  lass, 

In  love  with  a  pretty  lass  fell  he. 


43 


Tom  Thumb's  Wedding. 

Cepied  fry  permission  of  Heny  McCaffrey,  Music  Publisher, 
205  Bciltimore  St.,  Baltimore,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Be  kind,  friend  Tom,  unto  the  wife 

Confided  to  thy  care, 
And  may  she  always  cheer  thy  life, 

Thine  every  pleasure  share  ; 
And  while  together  }rou  may  tread 

Life's  fitful,  mazy  way, 
Remember,  Tom,  the  promise  made 

Upon  thy  wedding-day. 


Be  generous,  Tom,  unto  thy  bride. 

As  hand  in  hand  you  go, 
And  let  it  ever  be  thy  pride 

To  shield  her  heart  from  woe  ; 
And  ne'er  forget  'till  latest  breath, 

The  homage  each  should  pay  : 
Love  thou,  and  cherish  until  death, 

She,  honor  and  obey. 

*Tis  then,  dear  Tom,  that  you  shall  know 

The  pleasures  earth  can  give 
To  mortals,  dwelling  here  below, 

Who  learn  to  love  and  live  ! 
Then  live  and  love,  as  each  had  ought, 

'Till  life's  poor  task  is  done : 
"  Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought* 

Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one. " 


49 


Evang' 


eline. 


Copied  by  permission  of  S.  Brainakd  ft  Co.,  Mnsic  Publishers* 
203  Superior  St.,  Cleveland,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Sweet  Evangeline,  niy  lost  Evangeline, 

We  have  lived  and  loved  each  other,  fond  and  true, 
Ever  true  to  thee,  though  far  away  I've  been, 

My  heart  has  ever  dwelt  with  you  ; 
But  oh,  those  happy  days  will  ne'er  return, 

Those  happy  days  that  we  have  seen, 
For  I  am  left  to  weep  alone, 

My  sweet  Evangeline. 

CHORUS. 

Oh;  how  sad  we've  been,  lost  Evangeline, 

Since  we  laid  thee  where  the  sweetest  flowers  wave, 

And  the  angels  bright,  robed  in  spotless  white, 
Are  watching  o'er  thy  green  and  mossy  grave. 

Evangeline,  Evangeline,  Evangeline,  Evangeline, 
She's  gone  to  the  silent  grave. 

I  am  lonely  now,  my  dear  Evangeline, 

The  days  are  long,  the  nights  are  sad  and  drear  ; 
And  how  changed,  alas  !  each  well-remembered  scene, 

Since  you  and  I  were  sitting  here ; 
Alas  !  you  nevermore  will  smile  on  me, 

And  life  is  now  a  sad,  sad  dream ; 
I  lived  to  love  none  else  but  thee, 

My  sweet  Evangeline. 

CHORUS.  ^ 

Oh,  how  sad  we've  been,  lost  Evangeline, 

Since  we  laid  thee  where  the  sweetest  flowers  wave, 

And  the  angels  bright,  robed  in  spotless  white, 
Are  watching  o'er  thy  green  and  mossy  grave. 

Evangeline,  Evangeline,  Evangeline,  Evangeline, 
She's  gone  to  the  silent  grave. 


50 


Boy  with  the  Auburn  Hair. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

It  was  on  a  summer's  morning  all  in  the  month  of  May, 

And  in  those  flowery  garduing  where  Bessie  she  did 
stray, 

I  overheard  a  damsuiel  in  sorrow  to  complain, 

All  for  the  sake  of  her  lovier,  he  plowed  the  roaring 
main. 

Chorus — With  his  oh,  oh,  oil  oh  oh  oh  oh,  ho,  he  was 
her  darling  boy, 

He  was  the  boy  with  the  auburn  hair  and  his  name 
was  McAvoy. 

I  stept  up  to  this  damsuiel  and  did  her  much  surprise, 

Because  she  did  not  know  me,  I  being  in  singular  dis- 
guise. 

Says  I,  "  My  charming  creature,  my  gay  young  heart's 
delight, 

How  far  have  you  to  travuiel  this  dark  and  stormy 
night  ?"  (Chorus.) 

"  The  way,  kind  sir,  to  Manniyunk,  if  you  will  please  to 
show, 

And  pity  a  poor  distracted  maid,  for  there  I  have  to  go, 

In  search  of  the  faithless,  heartless  young  man,  and 
Snicklefritz  is  his  name, 

All  on  the  banks  of  the  Schullikill  I'm  told  he  does 
-       remain.  (Chorus.) 

"  If  Johnny  Kizer  he  was  here  he'd  keen  me  from  all 
harm, 

But  he's  on  the  field  of  battuiel  with  his  gallant  uniform ; 

He's  on  the  field  of  battuiel,  his  foes  he  will  destroy, 

Like  a  roaring  boy  from  Darbia  he  fought  in  German- 
town."  (Chorus.) 


51 


Jennie  Lorn. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Hekrt  McCaffrey.  Music  Publisher, 
205  "Baltimore  St.,  Baltimore,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

The  tear  was  in  the  soldier's  eye, 

As  on  a  summer's  morn 
He  bid  a  last  and  fond  good-by, 

To  weeping  Jennie  Lorn. 
They  strayed  down  to  the  meadow,  where, 

'Mid  the  rustling  of  the  corn, 
He  first  had  whispered  words  of  lore 
To  pretty  Jennie  Lorn. 
Chorus— Good-by,  Jennie,  dear, 
Do  not  weep  for  me, 
For  when  the  war  is  over 
Then  I'll  come  back  to  thee  ! 

The  summer's  sun  has  sunk  to  rest, 

The  corn  is  gathered  now ; 
The  red,  red  rose  has  withered, 

The  leaves  fall  off  the  bough  ! 
And  keen  and  cold  the  wint'ry  blast 

Across  the  moor  is  borne, 
And  why  does  not  the  soldier  writ* 

To  weeping  Jennie  Lorn  ? 

At  length,  one  day,  a  weary  step 

Approached  the  cottage  door, — 
A  wounded  comrade  brought  the  newa, 

Her  Edward  was  no  more  ; 
She  spoke  no  word,  she  made  no  sigh, 

But  the  robin  on  the  thorn, 
Ere  spring  had  come,  chirped  sadly  o'er 

The  grave  of  Jennie  Lorn. 


S3 


Our  Country  and  Flag. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Waxkeb,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Our  flag  and  our  country !  heaven's  blessings  attend 

them ; 
While  we  live  we  will  cherish,  protect  and  defend  them  ; 
While  loyal  and  true  hearts  for  freedom  beat  ever, 
No  foeman  or  faction  our  country  can  sever. 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  our  country  forever, 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  our  country  and  flag. 
Chorus — Hurra  !  Hurra  !  Hurra  !  etc. 

Our  Union  must  stand  throughout  all  future  ages, 
Enshrined  in  our  hearts  and  in  history's  pages  ; 
As  bought  with  the  blood  of  our  fathers,  we  cherish 
And  swear  to  preserve  and  maintain  it,  or  perish. 
Hurrah !  Hurrah  !  our  Union  forever, 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  our  country  and  flag. 

Our  country  is  the  land  of  the  patriot's  glory ; 

The  home  of  our  Washington,  honored  in  story  ; 

The  land  of  the  friendless,  the  exile  and  stranger, 

The  refuge  of  liberty  and  freedom  from  danger. 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah !  our  country  forever, 
Hurrah !  Hurrah !  our  country  and  flag. 

Oh,  may  then  this  Union  be  the  home  for  all  nations  ; 

For  millions  on  millions  thro'  all  generations ; 

And  the  deeds  of  our  fathers  be  ever  made  glorious, 

And  our  Star  Spangled  Banner  be  ever  victorious. 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  our  country  forever, 
Hurrah !  Hurrah  1  our  country  and  flag. 


53 


Darling  Nora's  Mine. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Miller  &  Beacham,  Music  Publishers, 
Baltimore,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

No  more  wayward  roving  o'er  the  ocean  brine  : 
Gentle,  kind  and  loving,  darling  Norah's  mine ; 
Ever  have  I  loved  her,  lo,  these  many  years, 
In  the  storm  and  sunshine,  in  our  smiles  and  tears. 
Cho. — No  more  wayward  roving  o'er  the  ocean  brine ; 
Gentle,  kind  and  loving,  darling  Koran's  mine. 


Years  ago  I  sought  her,  but  foul  slander  came 
With  its  native  venom,  ruining  my  fame ;  ] 
Bitter  cup  for  Norah,  well-nigh  death  to  me : 
I  went  forth  a  rover,  o'er  the  stormy  sea. 

Till,  one  night  in  winter,  in  a  fearful  gale, 
From  aloft  they  shouted  :  "  Hard  a-lee  !  a  sail !" 
Lo,  a  ship,  dismantled,  shattered,  leaking  fast, 
O'er  the  foaming  waters  floated  slowly  past. 

In  our  tossing  pinnace  swiftly  did  we  glide, 
Struggling  through  the  tempest  to  the  vessel's  side. 
Kneeling  in  the  cabin,  with  the  crew  at  prayer, 
Pale,  and  calm,  and  weary,  we  found  Norah  there. 

In  a  lovely  cottage  looking  o'er  the  sea, 
Now  a  wife  and  mother,  Norah  dwells  with  me  ; 
Ever  shall  I  love  her  through  the  coming  years;, 
In  the  storm  and  sunshine,  in  our  smiles  and  tears. 


54 


The  Song  of  the  Guard. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  weary  night  is  o'er  at  last ! 
We  ride  so  still,  we  ride  so  fast, 

We  ride  where  death  is  lying  ; 
The  morning  wind  doth  coldly  pass- 
m  Landlord,  we'll  take  another  glass, 
Ere  dying,  ere  dying  ! 


Thou  springing  grass,  that  art  so  green,' 
Shall  soon  be  rosy-red,  I  ween, 

My  blood  the  hue  supplying ! 
I  drink  the  first  draught,  sword  in  hand, 
To  him  who,  for  the  fatherland,. 

Lies  dying,  lies  dying  ! 

Now  quickty  comes  the  second  draught, 
And  that  shall  be  to  Freedom  quaffed, 

While  Freedom's  foes  are  flying  ; 
The  rest,  oh  Land !  our  hope  and  faith  ! 
We'd  drink  to  thee  with  latest  breath, 

Tho'  dying,  tho'  dying  ! 

My  darling  !  ah,  the  glass  is  out ! 
The  bullets  ring,  the  riders  shout, 

No  time  for  wine  or  sighing  ! 
There  !  bring  my  love  the  shivered  glass ; 
Charge  !  on  the  foe  !  what  joys  surpass 

Such  dying,  such  dying  ! 


55 


God  Bless  You ! 


Copied  by  permission  of  Miller  &  Bkacham.  Music  Publishers, 
Baltimore,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

How  sweetly  fall  those  simple  words 

Upon  the  human  heart, 
When  friends  long  bound  by  strongest  ties 

Are  doomed  by  fate  to  part ; 
You  sadly  press  the  hands  of  those 

Who  thus  in  love  caress  you, 
And  soul  responsive  beats  to  soul, 

In  breathing  out :  "  God  bless  you  !" 


44  God  bless  you  ! n  ah  !  long  months  ago 

I  heard  the  mournful  phrase, 
When  one  whom  I  in  childhood  loved, 

Went  from  my  dreamy  gaze ; 
Now  blinding  tears  fall  thick  and  fast, 
*    I  mourn  my  long-lost  treasure, 
While  echoes  of  the  heart  bring  back 
The  farewell  prayer,  "  God  bless  you !" 


The  mother,  sending  forth  her  boy 

To  scenes  untried  and  new, 
Lisps  not  a  studied,  stately  speech, 

Nor  murmurs  out,  "  adieu  !" 
She  sadly  says,  between  her  sobs, 

44  Whene'er  misfortunes  press  you, 
Come  to  thy  mother,  boy,  come  back  ! 

Good-by,  my  boy,  4  God  bless  you  !'  M 


56 


Carrie  Lee. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

They  made  her  a  grave  in  the  wild-wood  shade, 

Where  the  trees  gently  wave  in  their  bloom  ; 
Where  the  wild  birds  sing  and  the  soft  summer  breeze, 

Wafts  its  melodies  o'er  her  tomb. 
'Tis  there  little  Carrie  lies  sleeping  in  death, 

The  pride  of  the  village  was  she  ; 
And  there  many  friends  in  their  gloom  sadly  wept 

O'er  the  grave  of  our  own  Carrie  Lee. 

CHORUS. 

Then  sleep,  let  her  sleep  in  the  grave  they  have  made, 
From  the  cares  of  the  world  she  is  free  ; 

Then  weep,  let  us  weep  while  the  tall  willows  wave 
O'er  the  grave  of  our  own  Carrie  Lee. 


They  made  her  a  grave  in  the  wild-wood  shade, 

Where  the  violets  were  blooming  and  green,' 
Where  naught  now  is  heard  but  the  warbling  of  birds, 

And  the  noise  of  the  babbling  stream  ; 
No  more  her  sweet  voice  shall  the  echo  repeat, 

No  more  her  bright  smile  can  we  see, 
All's  hushed  now  in  death,  she  has  gone  to  her  rest 

In  heaven  dwells  our  own  Carrie  Lee. 

CHORUS. 

Then  sleep,  let  her  sleep  in  the  grave  they  have  made, 
From  the  cares  of  the  world  she  is  free ; 

Then  weep,  let  us  weep  while  the  tall  willows  wave, 
O'er  the  grave  of  our  own  Carrie  Lee. 


57 


Oh,  Give  us  a  Navy  of  Iron. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  give  us  a  navy  of  iron, 

And  to  man  it  our  Yankee  lads ; 
And  we'll  conquer  the  world's  broad  ocean, 

With  our  navy  of  iron-clads ; 
Then  adieu  to  Britannia's  power, 

We'll  crush  it  whenever  we  please  ; 
The  Lion  shall  yield  to  the  Eagle, 
And  Columbia  shall  rule  the  seas. 
Chorus— Oh,  give  us  a  navy  of  iron, 

And  to  man  it  our  Yankee  lads  ; 
And  we'll  conquer  the  world's  broad  ocean, 
With  our  navy  of  iron-clads. 

Old  England,  the  foe  of  our  fathers, 

The  foe  of  their  children  to-day, 
Is  gloating  in  hopes  that  our  Union 

In  darkness  is  passing  away. 
But  Treason  shall  die  in  its  ashes, 

And,  stronger  than  ever  before, 
We'll  turn  on  the  jealous  old  tyrant, 

And  punish  John  Bull  at  his  door. 

And  where  in  the.  wide  world  a  nation 

That  could  cope  with  our  iron  Jacks  ? 
We  wouki  sweep  all  their  seas  and  harbors, 

Of  their  Warriors  and  Merrimacs.  - 
Then  give  us  a  nayy  of  iron, 

And  we'll  fling  our  flag  to  the  breeze, 
And  prove  to  the  despots  of  Europe 

That  freedom  must  reign  on  the  seas. 


58 


Fairy  Dreams. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Henry  McCaffrey,  Music  Publisher, 
205  Baltimore  St.,  Baltimore,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill,  near  the  old  red  mill, 

In  a  quiet,  shady  spot, 
Just  peepiug  through,  half  hid  from  view, 

Stands  a  little  moss-grown  cot ; 
And  straying  through  at  the  open  door, 
The  sunbeams  play  on  the  sanded  floor. 
Chorus — And  peeping  throgh  at  the  open  door, 

The  sun-beams  play  on  the   sanded  floor. 

The  easy-chair,  with  tender  care, 

Is  placed  by  the  old  hearth-stone  ; 
With  witching  grace,  near  the  fireplace 

The  evergreens  are  strewn  ; 
And  pictures  hang  on  the  whitened  wall, 
As  the  old  clock  ticks  in  the  cottage  hall. 

Over  the  door,  all  covered  o'er 

"With  a  sack  of  dark-green  baize, 
Lies  a  musket  old,  whose  worth  is  told : 

A  relic  of  other  days. 
The  powder-pouch  and  the  hunter's  horn, 
Have  hung  beside  for  many  a  morn. 

For  years  have  fled  with  noiseless  tread, 

Like  fairy  dreams  away, 
And  left  in  their  flight,  all  shorn  of  his  might, 

A  faiher,  old  and  gray  ; 
And  the  soft  wind  plays  with  his  snow-white  hair, 
As  the  old  man  sleeps  in'  his  easy  -chain 


59 


In  at  the  door  on  the  sanded  floor, 

Light,  fairy  footsteps  glide, 
And  a  maiden  fair,  with  flaxen  hair, 

Kneels  by  the  old  man's  side : 
An  old  oak,  wrecked  by  an  angry  storm, 
While  the  ivy  clings  to  his  trembling  form. 


"  Bill  and  I." 


Copied  by  permission  of  Miller  &  Beacham,  Music  Publishers, 
Baltimore,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  moon  had  just  gone  down,  sir, 

But  the  stars  lit  up  the  sky  ; 
All  was  still  in  tent  and  town,  sir, 

Not  a  rebel  could  we  spy  ! 
It  was  our  turn  at  picket, 
So  we  marched  into  the  thicket, 
To  the  music  of  the  cricket, 

Chirping  nigh,  chirping  nigh. 

Oh,  we  kept  a  sharp  look-out,  sir, 

On  Munson,  frownin'  nigh, 
But  no  rebel  bein'  about,  sir, 

We  sat  down  there  by  and  by  ; 
And  we  watched  the  brook  a  brawlin', 
And  counted  stars  a  fallin', 
Old  memories  overhauling 
Bill  and  I. 

And  says  he,  "  Won't  it  be  glorious, 
When  we  fling  our  muskets  by, 

And  home  agaiu  victorious, 
We  hear  our  sweethearts  cry, 


60 


Welcome  back  "  — A  step  !  Who  goes  there  1 
A  shot !  by  heaven,  the  foe's  there  ! 
Bill  sat  there  all  composure, 
But  not  I. 


By  the  red  light  of  his  gun,  sir, 

I  marked  the  rebel  spy  , 
In  an  instant  it  was  done,  sir, 

I  had  fired  and  heard  a  cry. 
I  sprang  across  the  stream,  sir, 
Oh,  it  seems  just  like  a  dream,  sir, 
The  dizzy,  dying  gleam,  sir, 
Of  that  eye. 

A  youth — a  very  boy,  sir, 

I  saw  before  me  lie ; 
Some  pretty  school-girl's  toy,  sir, 

Had  ventured  there  to  die. 
We  had  hated  one  another, 
Yet  I  heard  him  murmur  "  Mother," 
So  I  stooped,  and  called  him  "  Brother  "- 
No  reply. 

I  crossed  the  stream  once  more,  sir, 

To  see  why  Bill  warn't  by — 
He  was  leanin'  as  before,  sir, 

But  a  film  was  o'er  his  eye. 
I  scarce  knew  what  it  meant,  sir, 
Till  a  wail  broke  from  our  tent,  sir, 
As  into  to  camp  we  went,  sir, 
Bill  and  I. 


61 


The  Bachelor's  Lament. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee   &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
7*22  Chestnut  st.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I'll  sigh  no  more,  I'll  sigh  no  more, 

For  any  lady  fair; 
I'll  steel  my  heart  against  the  wiles 

Of  dark  or  auburn  hair  ; 
I  never  more  will  heed  the  words, 

That  blandly  from  them  flow  ; 
I'll  close  my  eyes,  and  turn  deaf  ears,  , 
Or,  quickly  from  them  go. 
Chorus — I'll  sigh  no  more,  I'll  sigh  no  more, 
For  any  lady  fair  ; 
I'll  steel  my  heart  against  the  wilei 
Of  dark  or  auburn  hair. 

The  girl  I  loved  was  fair  to  view, 

Of  gentle  mind  and  mien, 
Her  lovers  she'd  a  score  or  two, 

But  all  did  sue  in  vain ; 
She  always  said  she  loved  but  one — 

That  one  myself,  none  other, 
But  when  I  asked  .her  for  her  hand, 

She'd  given  it  to  another.         (Chorus.) 

Now,  ladies  all,  come  list  to  me, 

And  think  on  what  I  say  : 
How  would  you  like  some  cruel  beau 

To  break  your  heart  in  play  ? 
Have  pity,  then,  on  poor  young  men, 

Who  honestly  endeavor 
To  win  a  heart  at  cupid's  mart, 

And  keep  it  safe  forever.  (Chorus.) 


62 


How  are  You,  Telegraph? 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  Brainard  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
203  Superior  St.,  Cleveland,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

John  Morgan  paid  us  a  visit  you  know, 

All  booted  and  spurred  was  he ; 
With  a  jolly  good  gang,  four  thousand  or  so, 

And  cannon  numbering  three. 
He  made  it  his  boast  he  could  gallop  straight  through — 

What  a  roystering  blade  was  he  ! — 
Buckeyes  and  Hoosie'rs,  with  all  of  his  crew, 

Till  he  heard  the  bugles  of  Lee. 

CHORUS. 

Ho !  gather  your  flocks  and  sound  the  alarm ; 

For  the  partisan  rangers  have  come ; 
Bold  knights  of  the  road,  they  scour  each  farm, 

And  scamper  at  tap  of  the  drum. 
How  are  you,  telegraph  ? 


John  came  in  excellent  style,  to  be  sure 

With  banner  and  brand  came  he ; 
His  clattering  hoofs  made  a  terrible  roar, 

And  his  cannon  numbering  three. 
The  ifoosiers  were  scared,  so  entered  the  race; 

What  a  rowdyish  set  were  they ; 
And  the  Buckeyes  mounted  to  join  in  the  chase, 

As  Johm  y  galloped  their  way.  (Chorus.) 

John  rode  till  the  seat  of  his  breeches  was  worn ; 

What  a  crazy  rider  was  he  ! 
With  Ins  jolly  gay  flags,  so  dusty  and  torn, 

And  his  cannon  numbering  three. 


63 


All  jaded  for  sleep,  and  quite  weak  in  the  back 

His  troopers  vote  it  a  bore  ; 
But  the  Buckeyes  relish  the  fan  on  the  track, 

What  a  merry  go  round  to  t>e  sure.      (Chorus.) 

John  ordered  his  scouts  to  the  river  to  scan  ; 

What  a  choptallen  fellow  was  he  ; 
But  when  they  returned,  he  sighed  for  his  men 

And  cannon  numbering  three. 
A  pleasant  old  gunboat,  mousing  below, 

Was  waiting  for  toll  that  day : 
John  Morgan  concluded  his  scrip  wouldn't  go, 

So  Johnny  must  gallop  away.  (Chorus.) 

John  rode  to  the  left,  John  rode  to  the  right ; 

What  a  wool-gathered  Morgan  was  he; 
Don  Quixote  had  never  so  ugly  a  plight, 

With  cannon  numbering  three. 
Bedeviled,  begirt  on  hill  and  on  plain, 

The  foe  on  his  front  and  his  rear, 
With  the  most  of  his  troopers,  captured  or  slain, 

Why,  John,  what  a  wonderful  scare.   (Chorus.) 

Then  Shackleford  came  with  his  sabre  and  gun 

What  a  surly  old  fellow  was  he ; 
And  he  gobbled  them  up  as  a  boy  would  a  bun, 

And  their  cannon  numbering  three  ;   . 
He  gobbled  them  up  in  all  their  pride  ; 

John  Morgan,  where  is  the  fun  ? 
And  he  taught  them  a  lesson,  in  taking  a  ride, 

To  go  where  the  wires  don't  run.         (Chorus.) 


64 


The  Day  our  Mother  Died. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walkeb,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

There  was  silence  in  the  homestead, 

By  the  hearth  and  in  the  hall, 
And  our  sorrow,  like  a  wintry  cloud, 

Hung  darkly  over  all ; 
For  the  love  that  was  to  us  far  more 

Than  all  the  world  beside, 
Went  down  with  mourning  to  the  grare, 

The  day  our  mother  died 


We  remembered  how  she  loved  us, 

We  remembered  well  the  tears, 
And  the  prayers  that  guarded  all  our  waj 

Through  many  happy  years; 
But  now  her  earnest  love  no  more 

Might  seek  our  steps  to  guide ; 
And  all  our  life  seemed  dark  to  us, 

The  day  our  mother  died. 


We  shall  never,  never  meet  her, 

By  the  hearth,  or  in  the  hall ; 
We  shall  never  see  her  face  on  earth, 

Where'er  our  lot  may  fall  ; 
But  memory  brings  each  gentle  grace, 

As  ever,  to  our  side  ; 
And  hope  and  sorrow  hallow  still 

The  day  our  mother  died. 


BEADLE'S 


Song  Book 

fifo!  12. 

A   COLLECTION    OP   NEW   AND    POPULAR 

COMIC  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


NEW  YORK: 
BBADLE  AND  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 

118  WILLIAM  STREET. 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE, 

The  music  with  piano  forte  arrangement,  of  any  of  the 
songs  in  Beadle's  Dime  Song  Books,  can  be  obtained  of,  or 
ordered  through,  any  regular  News  or  Periodical  dealer ;  or 
by  forwarding  twenty-five  cents,  direct  to  the  publishers, 
whose  names  and  address  are  attached  to  many  of  the  pieces, 
the  music  will  be  sent  by  mail,  post-paid. 

Beadle  and  Company. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864, 

By  BEADLE  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 

for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


B.  12.) 


• 


CONTENTS 


TASB. 

Ah,  he  kissed  me  when  he  left  me,         -        -        -  47 

A  little  farm  well  tilled, 51 

All's  well, 57 

A  vesper  song, 34 

Babylon  is  fallen, 16 

Beautiful  Rose, 15 

Bread  and  cheese  and  kisses, 33 

Brother's  fainting  at  the  door,    -  7 

Cousin  Jedediah, --50 

Daisy  Deane, 30 

Dream  on,  Lillie, 49 

Ella  Clay, 18 

Footsteps  on  the  stairs, 36 

He's  gone  to  the  arms  of  Abraham,  58 

I'm  going  to  fight  mit  Siegel, 42 

Isabel,  lost  Isabel, 62 

I  sailed  in  the  good  ship,  the  Kitty,        -                 -  51 

Jack  on  the  green, 25 

Jenny  Brown  and  I, 63 

Johnny  is  my  darling, 37 

Johnny  Schmoker, 22 

Just  before  the  battle,  mother,  14 

Katy's  letter, 48 

Maid  of  Llanweflyn, 59 

Merry,  little,  gray,  fat  man, 53 

Nellie  lost  and  found, 52 

Oh,  are  ye  sleeping,  Maggie?  -----  6 

Oh,  bless  me,  mother,  ere  I  die,  32 

Ole  Dan  Tucker, 45 

O.ir  Captain's  last  words, 8 

Our  sweethearts  at  home, 17 

Robin  Adair, 21 

Singular  dreams, W 

Sleeping  for  the  flag, ^H 


IV  CONTENTS. 


PAGT5. 

Song  of  a  thousand  years,    -        -        -        -  60 

The  bell-ringer, 20 

The  blue  jay's  melody, 46 

The  coat  of  other  days, 27 

The  days  when  we  were  young,  -        -        -        -  11 

The  dear  ones  all  at  home, 38 

The  farmer's  daughter, 64 

The  first  love  dream, 29 

The  ham  fat  man, 35 

The  knitting  song, 26 

The  Lily  of  St.  Leonard's, 43 

The  old  church  bell, & 

The  old  house  far  away,      -                -        -        -  28 

The  parting  of  the  sailor's  wife,      -        -        -        -  61 

The  ring  my  mother  wore, 44 

The  vacant  chair, 5 

The  wherewithal, 12 

Thou  wilt  come  nevermore  to  the  stream,      -        -  40 

Three  roguish  chaps, 39 

Tread  lightly,  ye  comrades, 54 

Uncle  Joe's  Hail  Columbia,         -        -        -        -  13 

Watching  for  pa, 55 

We'll  go  down  ourselves, 31 

When  old  friends  were  here, 19 

Within  the  sound  of  the  enemy's  guns,  41 

Yes,  I  would  the  war  were  oyer,  •                       •  10 


BEADLE'S 

DIME  SONG  BOOK  No.  12. 


The  Vacant  Chair. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

"We  shall  meet,  but  we  shall  miss  him, 

There  will  be  one  vacant  chair ; 
"We  shall  linger  to  caress  him, 

While  we  breathe  our  evening  prayer ; 
When  a  year  ago  we  gathered, 

Joy  was  in  his  mild  blue  eye; 
But  a  golden  cord  is  severed, 

And  our  hopes  in  ruin  lie. 

CHORrs. 
We  shall  meet,  but  we  shall  miss  him, 

There  will  be  one  vacant  chair ; 
We  shall  linger  to  caress  him, 

When  we  breathe  our  evening  prayer. 

At  our  fireside,  sad  and  lonely, 

Often  will  the  bosom  swell, 
At  remembrance  of  the  story, 

When  our  noble  Willie  fell ; 
IIow  he  strove  to  bear  our  banner, 

Through  the  tlrickest  of  the  fight, 
And  uphold  our  country's  honor, 

In  the  strength  of  manhood's  might.  (Cnonrs.) 


G 


True,  they  tell  us  wreaths  of  glory 

Evermore  will  deck  his  brow, 
But  this  soothes  the  anguish  only, 

Sweeping  o'er  our  heart-strings  now ; 
Sleep  to-day,  oh,  early  fallen, 

In  thy  green  and  narrow  bed, 
Dirges  from  the  pine  and  cypress 

Mingle  with  the  tears  we  shed.     (Chokus.) 


Oh,  are  ye  Sleeping,  Maggie? 

Dark  and  mirky  is  the  night, 

And  not  a  star  shines  through  the  carr 
Lightning  flash  is  a*  the  light, 

And  rifted  woods  roar  wild  and  drcarie, 
Chokus. — Oh,  are  ye  sleeping,  Maggie  ? 

Say,  are  ye  sleeping  Maggie  ? 
Let  me  in,  for  loud  the  linn, 

Is  roaring  o'er  the  warlock  craigie. 

Abune  my  breath  I  dinna  speak, 

For  fear  I'll  rouse  your  wankrife  daddio 

Could's  the  blast  upon  my  cheek, 

Rise,  oh,  rise,  my  bonnie  ladie.     (Chorus.) 

She  oped  the  door  and  let  him  in, 

He  cast  aside  his  dripping  plaidie ; 
Now  blaw  your  worst,  ye  blust'ring  winds, 
Since,  Maggie  dear,  I'm  here  beside  ye. 
Chorus. — Now  since  you're  waking,  Maggie, 

Now  since  you're  waking,  Maggie, 
What  care  I  for  howlet's  cry, 

For  boortrie  bauk  or  warlock  craigie  ? 


Brother's  Fainting  at  the  Boor. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
563  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Yonder  comes  a  weary  soldier, 

With  ialt'ring  steps  across  the  moor ; 
Mem' ries  of  the  past  steal  o'er  me, 
He  totters  to  the  cottage  door ; 
Look,  my  heart  can  not  deceive  me, 

'Tis  one  we  deemed  on  earth  no  more ; 
Call  mother,  haste,  do  not  tarry, 
For  brother's  fainting  at  the  door. 

Cnonus. 
Kindly  greet  the  weary  soldier, 

Words  of  comfort  may  restore  ; 
You  may  have  an  absent  brother, 
Fainting  at  a  stranger's  door. 

Tell  us,  brother,  of  the  battle, 

Why  you  were  numbered  with  the  slain ; 
We,  who  thought  you  lost  for  ever, 

Now  clasp  you  to  our  amis  again ; 
Oh,  may  others  share  the  blessing, 

Which  heaven  kindly  keeps  in  store, 
May  they  meet  their  absent  loved  ones, 

Ay,  e'en  though  Hunting  at  the  door.  (Clio's.) 

I  was  wounded  and  a  pris'ner, 

Our  ranks  were  broken,  forced  to  fly ; 
Thrown  within  a  gloomy  dungeon, 

Away  from  friends  alone  to  die, 
Still  the  hope  was  strong  within  me, 

A  cherished  hope  that  would  restore ; 
I  have  lived,  by  heaven's  blessing, 

To  meet  my  loved  ones  at  the  door.  (Clio's.) 


•Our  Captain's  Last  Words. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Where  the  foremost  flag  was  flying, 

Pierced  by  many  a  shot  and  shell, 
Where  the  bravest  men  were  dying, 

There  our  gallant  Captain  fell ; 
44  Boys,  you  follow  now  another, 

Follow  till  the  foe  shall  yield ;" 
Then  he  whispered  :  "  Tell  my  mother 

Stephen  died  upon  the  field ; 
Mother !  mother ! 

Stephen  died  upon  the  field." 

Through  the  battle  smoke  they  bore  him, 

But  his  words  were  growing  wild ; 
Heeding  not  the  scenes  before  him, 

Stephen  was  once  more  a  child ; 
u  Ah,  she  comes  !  there  is  no  other 

Speaks  my  name  with  such  a  joy ; 
Press  me  to  your  bosom,  mother, 

Call  me  still  your  darling  boy ; 
Mother !  mother ! 

Call  me  still  your  darling  boy." 

Men  who  were  not  used  to  weeping 

Turned  aside  to  hide  a  tear, 
When  they  saw  the  pallor  creeping, 

That  assured  them  death  was  near ; 
Kindly  as  he  were  a  brother, 

Strangers  caught  his  parting  breath, 
Laden  with  the  murmur,  "  Mother  !" 

Last  upon  his  lips  in  death ; 
44 Mother!  mother!" 

Last  upon  his  lips  in  death. 


The  Old  Church  Bell. 

For  full  five  hundred  years  Fvc  swung 

In  my  old  gray  turret  high, 
And  many  a  different  theme  I've  sung, 

As  the  time  went  stealing  by ; 
IVe  pealed  the  chant  of  a  wedding  morn, 

Ere  night  I  have  sadly  tolled, 
To  say  that  the  bride  was  coming,  love-lorn, 

To  sleep  in  the  churchyard  mold. 
Ding,  dong,  my  ceaseless  song, 
Merry  and  sad,  but  never  long. 

^or  full  five  hundred  years  I've  swung 

In  my  ancient  turret  high, 
And  many  a  different  theme  I've  sung, 

As  the  time  went  stealing  by ; 
I've  swelled  the  joy  of  a  country's  pride, 

For  a  victory*,  far  off  won ; 
Then  changed  to  grief,  for  the  brave  that  clie4, 

Ere  my  mirth  had  well  begun. 

Ding,  dong,  my  ceaseless  song, 
Merry  and  sad,  but  never  long. 

For  full  five  hundred  years  I've  swung 

In  my  crumbling  turret  high ; 
'Tis  time  my  own  death-song  were  sung, 

And  with  truth,  before  I  die ; 
I  never  could  love  the  theme  they  gave 

My  tyrannized  tongue  to  tell ; 
One  moment  for  cradle,  the  next  for  grave— 

They've  worn  out  the  old  church  bell. 
Ding,  dong,  my  changeful  song, 
Farewell  now,  and  farewell  lone:. 


10 


Yes,  I  would  the  War  were  Over. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Winner  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
933  Spring  Garden  St.,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyrigkt. 

Yes,  I  would  the  war  were  over, 

Would  the  cruel  work  were  done ; 
With  my  country  undivided, 

And  the  battle  fought  and  won ; 
Let  the  contest  now  before  us, 

Be  decided  by  the  sword, 
For  the  war  can  not  be  ended 

Till  the  Union  is  restored. 

CHORUS. 

Yes,  I  would  the  war  were  over, 
Would  the  cruel  work  were  done ; 

With  my  country  still  united, 
And  the  many  States  in  one. 

Dead  upon  the  field  of  battle, 

Husbands,  sons  and  brothers  lie ; 
Friends  are  waiting,  wives  and  mothers, 

Looking  for  them,  by-and-by ; 
Far  away  from  home  forever, 

Many  a  noble  boy  lies  slain ; 
Look  not  for  thy  child,  fond  mother, 

Thou  shalt  see  him  not  again.  (Chorus.) 

Yes,  I  would  the  war  were  ended, 

And  the  cruel  struggle  o'er, 
But  our  flag  must  be  defended, 

And  our  country  as  before ; 
Teace,  indeed,  is  heaven's  blessing, 

Though  its  joys  are  easy  lost, 
Still  we'll  battle  for  our  nation, 

Whatsoe'er  it  yet  may  cost.       (Chorus.) 


11 
The  Days  when  we  were  Young. 

Copied  by  permission   of   Root   &  Cadt,   Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Sister,  sister,  don't  you  remember 
The  days  when  we  were  young  ? 

The  long,  long  days,  with  a  light  and  a  shade, 
Like  the  pearls  of  a  necklace  strung  ? 

They  are  gone,  with  all  our  yesterdays, 
We  seek  their  like  in  vain ; 

But  we  will  shed  no  tears  for  ihem 
While  the  bright  to-days  remain — 
While  the  bright  to-days  remain. 


Sister,  sister,  don't  you  remember 
The  days  when  we  were  young  ? 

The  homely  house  in  the  far,  far  away, 
Where  the  love  of  ourchildhood  clung? 

There  is  naught  to  mark  that  sacred  spot, 
Save  now  the  beaten  loam  ; 

Yet  distant  altars  have  we  reared, 
In  the  blessed  name  of  home- 
In  the  blessed  name  of  home. 

Sister,  sister,  don't  you  remember 

The  days  when  we  were  young  ? 
The  mates  of  childhood,  the  friends  of  our  youth, 

We  companioned  and  loved  among? 
Some  are  wand'ring  far,  and  some  m  death 

Have  closed  their  weary  eyes ; 
But  we  rejoice  in  new-found  friends, 

While  we  weep  for  broken  ties — 

While  we  weep  for  broken  tics. 


12 


The  Wherewithal. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

A  man  may  have  wisdom  and  worth, 

And  humor  and  wit  at  his  call, 
But  what  do  these  matter  on  earth, 

If  he  has  not  the  wherewithal ; 
His  home  may  be  circled  with  friends, 

If  he  only  keep  up  the  ball, 
But  friendship  soon  changes  and  ends, 
If  he  has  not  the  wherewithal. 
Chorus. — Then  seek  for  the  wherewithal, 
Make  sure  of  the  wherewithal, 
For  pleasure  like  friendship  soon  ends, 
If  you  have  not  the  wherewithal. 

The  purse  is  the  dial  whose  face, 

Shows  be3t  where  the  sunlight  doth  fall ; 
He  is  always  the  first  in  the  race, 

Who  is  first  with  the  wherewithal ; 
Some  say  that  the  high  can  be  mean, 

Some  say  that  the  great  can  be  small, 
But  trifles  like  these  are  not  seen, 

If  blessed  with  the  wherewithal.  (Chorus.) 

Love  shines  on  the  casement  that  shows 

A  picture  within  to  enthral : 
When  gold's  in  the  heart  of  the  rose, 

There's  love  in  the  wherewithal ; 
Yes,  men  may  have  wisdom  and  worth, 

And  humor  and  wit  at  their  call, 
But  what  do  these  matter  on  earth, 

If  they  have  not  the  wherewithal.  (Chorus.) 


13 


Uncle  Joe's  Hail  Columbia. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Uncle  Joe  comes  home  a  singing,  Hail  Columby  !* 
Glorious  times  de  Lord  is  bringin',  now  let  me  die ! 
Fling  de  chains  into  de  ribber,  lay  de  burden  by ; 
Dar  is  One  who  will  delibber,  now  let  me  die ! 

CHORUS. 

Ring  de  bells  in  eb'ry  steepde,  raise  de  flag  on  high ! 
De  Lord  has  come  to  sabe  his  people,  now  let  me  die  I 


Bressed  days,  I  lib  to  see  dem,  Hail  Columby ! 
I  hab  drawn  a  breff  of  freedom,  now  let  me  die ! 
Ninety  years  I  bore  de  burden,  den  He  heard  my  cry ; 
Standin'  on  the  banks  of  Jordan,  now  let  me  die ! 

Dis  is  what  de  war  was  brought  for,  Hail  Columby  I 
Dis  is  what  our  faders  fought  for,  now  let  me  die ! 
Dar's  an  end  to  all  dis  sorrow,  comin'  by-and-by ; 
Prayin'  for  dat  bressed  morrow,  now  let  me  die  I 

I  hab  seen  de  rebels  beaten,  Hail  Columby ! 
I  hab  seen  dar  hosts  retreatin',  now  let  me  die ! 
Oh,  dis  Union  can't  be  broken,  dar's  no  use  to  try; 
No  sech  t'ing  de  Lord  has  spoken,  now  let  me  die ! 

I'll  go  home  a  singing  "  Glory  j"  Hail  Columby  ! 
Since  I  heard  dis  bressed  story,  now  let  me  die ! 
'Tis  de  ransom  ob  de  nation,  drawin'  now  so  nigh  ; 
Tis  de  day  ob  full  salbation,  now  let  me  die  1 


14 


Just  before  the  Battle,  Mother. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cjldt,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Just  before  the  battle,  mother, 
I'm  thinking  most  of  you ; 
While  upon  the  field  we're  watching, 

With  the  enemy  in  view ; 
Comrades  brave  are  round  me  lying, 

Filled  with  thoughts  of  home  and  God ; 
For  well  they  know,  that  on  the  morrow, 
Some  will  sleep  beneath  the  sod. 
Chorus. — Farewell,  mother,  you  may  never 
Press  me  to  your  heart  again ; 
But,  oh,  you'll  not  forget  me,  mother, 
If  I'm  numbered  with  the  slain. 

Oh,  I  long  to  see  you,  mother, 

And  the  loving  ones  at  home ; 
But  I'll  never  leave  our  banner, 

Till  in  honor  I  can  come ; 
Tell  the  traitors  all  around  you, 

That  their  cruel  words  we  know, 
In  ev'ry  battle  kill  our  soldiers, 

By  the  help  they  give  the  foe.  (Chorus.) 

Hark !  I  hear  the  bugles  sounding, 

'Tis  the  signal  for  the  fight ; 
Now  may  God  protect  us,  mother, 

As  He  ever  does  the  right ; 
Hear  the  "  Battle-cry  of  Freedom," 

How  it  swells  upon  the  air ; 
Oh,  yes,  we'll  rally  round  our  standard, 

Or  we'll  perish  nobly  there.      (Chorus.) 


15 


Beautiful  Eose. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Mnsic  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Off  on  the  prairie,  where  the  balmy  air, 

Kisses  the  waving  corn,     • 
There  lives  a  farmer  with  a  daughter  fair, 

Fair  as  a  summer's  morn ; 
She  has  a  nature  gentle  as  a  clove, 

Pure  as  the  mountain  snows ; 
Say,  is  it  strange  that  everyone  should  love, 
Love  such  a  girl  as  Rose  ? 
Chorus. — Beautiful  Rose  !  lovely  Rose  ! 
Pride  of  the  prairie  bower ! 
Everybody  loves  her,  everybody  knows 
She  is  the  fairest  flower ! 

Rose  is  a  lady,  yet  from  early  dawn, 

Labors  her  skillful  hand  ; 
She  is  the  housewife,  now  her  mother's  gone, 

Gone  to  the  better  land  ; 
Rose  has  the  beauty,  father  has  the  gold, 

Both  will  be  hers  some  day ; 
For  she  is  young,  while  he  is  old, 

Old  people  pass  away.  (Chorus.) 

Clerks  from  the  city,  plowmen  from  the  field, 

Lords  from  a  foreign  land, 
Each  in  their  turn  have  very  humbly  kneeled^ 

Kneeled  for  'her  heart  and  hand ; 
But  to  them  all  she  made  the  same  reply, 

Kindly  but  firmly,  "  No  !" 
And  none  but  I  can  tell  the  reason  why, 

Why  she  should  treat  them  so.     (Chorus.) 


16 


Babylon  is  Fallen. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark. 6treet,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Don't  you  see  de  black  clouds  risin'  ober  yonder, 
Whar  de  massa's  ole  plantation  am  ? 

Neber  you  be  frightened,  dem  is  only  darkeys, 
Come  to  jine  and  fight  for  Uncle  Sam. 

CHORUS. 

Look  out  dar,  now,  we's  a  gwine  to  shoot ! 

Look  out  dar — don't  you  understand  V 
Babylon  is  fallen,  Babylon  is  fallen, 

And  we's  a  gwine  to  occupy  de  land. 

Don't  you  see  de  lightnin'  flashin'  in  de  cane-brake, 
Like  as  if  we  gwine  to  hab  a  storm  ? 

No,  you  is  mistaken,  'tis  de  darkey's  bay'nets, 
An'  de  buttons  on  dar  uniform.         (Chorus.) 

Way  up  in  de  corn-field,  whar  you  hear  de  t'under, 

Dat  is  our  ole  forty-pounder  gun ; 
When  de  shells  are  missin',  den  we  load  wid  punkins, 

All  de  same  to  make  de  cowards  run.  (Chorus.) 

Massa  was  de  Kernel  in  de  rebel  army, 

Eber  sence  he  went  an'  run  away ; 
But  his  lubly  darkeys,  dey  has  been  a  watchhV, 

An'  dey  take  him  pris'ner  tudder  day.  (Chorus.) 

We  will  be  de  massa,  he  will  be  de  sarvant, 

Try  him  how  he  like  it  for  a  spell ; 
So  we  crack  de  butt'nuts,  so  we  take  de  Kernel, 

So  de  cannon  carry  back  de  shell.     (Chorus.) 


Our  Sweethearts  at  Home. 

Copied    by    permission    of   Sep.    Winner.    Music    Publisher, 
933  Spring  Garden  st.,  Philadelphia,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

The  rover  goes  forth  from  his*  home  far  away, 
And  roams  o'er  the  wide  world  by  night  and  by  day, 
Forsaking  his  home  and  the  friends  that  are  dear, 
Though  bidding  "good-by"  with  a  sigh  and  a  tear; 
The  hope  in  his  heart,  no  vision  can  mar, 
As  he  wanders  away  to  some  region  afar ; 
Though  bright  be  his  journey,  where'er  he  may  roam, 
He  dreams  with  a  sigh  of  his  sweetheart  at  home. 

CHORUS. 

Our  sweethearts  at  home,  be  we  ever  so  far, 
Live  still  in  our  thoughts,  wherever  we  are ; 
Away,  far  away,  though  wildly  we  roam, 
We  dream,  ever  dream  of  our  sweethearts  at  home. 

The  soldier  goes  forth  to  the  army  afar, 

And  dares  with  a  firm  heart  the  perils  of  war ; 

He  braves  ev'ry  danger,  unconscious  of  fear, 

Yet  parting  at  first  can  not  keep  back  the  tear ; 

For  over  the  heart  a  sorrow  will  come, 

As  we  part  from  our  friends  and  the  comforts  of  home ; 

He  tries  to  forget  as  he  bids  them  adieu, 

But  parting  is  sad  to  the  hearts  that  are  true. 

The  sailor  goes  out  o'er  the  waters  so  wide, 
And  heeds  not  the  dash  of  the  deep  ocean's  tide ; 
He  leaves  the  "  sweet  home  "  of  his  childhood  a  while, 
And  drives  back  the  tear  as  he  forces  a  smile ; 
He  wanders  away,  but  o'er  his  lone  heart 
Full  many  a  dream  of  the  future  will  start  ; 
Though  reckless  and  wild  o'er  the  world  he  may  roam 
He  dreams,  often  dreams  of  his  sweethearts  at  home. 


18 


Ella  Clay. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
563  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Away  down  in  de  Kentucky  State, 

Not  many  years  ago, 
The  darkies  lived  so  happy  den, 
And  played  on  de  old  banjo ; 
On  massa's  farm  we  hoed  de  corn, 

From  morn  to  close  ob  day, 
And  danced  and  sung  when  night  cum  on, 
With  charming  Ella  Clay. 
Chorus. — Oh,  Ella  Clay,  oh,  Ella  Clay,         ♦ 
Sweet,  charming  Ella  Clay ; 
Wid  eyee  more  bright  dan  stars  at  night, 
Sparkling  bright  and  gay. 

No  gal  in  all  Kentucky  State 

Wid  Ella  coirid  compare ; 
Her  lubly  eyes  and  cherry  lips, 

And  skin  so  berry  fair ; 
Oh,  we  loved  each  other  dearly, 

And  oft  to  her  I'd  say : 
"  How  berry  lonely  I  would  be, 

Without  sweet  Ella  Clay.         (Chorus.) 

But  times  hab  changed,  old  massa's  dead, 

And  I  am  left  alone ; 
To  oder  homes,  far,  far  away, 

De  darkies  all  hab  gone ; 
De  white  man  cum  one  sunny  day, 

And  took  my  love  away, 
And  now  I  weep  de  whole  day  long 

For  darling  Ella  Clay.  (Chorus.) 


When  old  Friends  were  Here. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
4S1  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

When  old  friends  were  here, 

In  days  that  are  flown, 
How  fond  were  the  hands 

Which  oft  clasped  my  own ! 
The  pathways  of  life 

Wore  pleasure's  sunny  hue, 
And  voices  were  near, 

With  tones  warm  and  true. 

CHORUS. 

All  are  gone  !  all  are  gone  ! 

No  loved  one's  near ; 
I  weep  for  the  happy  days 

When  old  friends  were  here. 


When  old  friends  were  here 

We  roamed  o'er  the  hills, 
We  sang  merry  songs, 

As  free  as  the  rills ; 
But  time  on  its  wave 

Has  rudely  borne  away 
The  fair  dewy  flowers 

Of  life's  early  day. 

CHORUS. 

All  are  gone  !  all  are  gone  } 
No  loved  one's  near ! 

I  weep  for  the  happy  days 
When  old  friends  were  here, 


20 


The  Bell-Ringer. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Son,  Music  Publishers, 
W3  Broadway,  N.  Y.  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  set  the  bell  a-ringing 

When  the  bride  to  the  altar  was  led ; 
And  I  loved  to  hear  it  swinging 

So  merrily  over  my  head  ; 
The  children  flung  gay  garlands  round, 
While  I  sent  forth  the  jocund  sound ; 
Then  many  tears  were  shed,  but  yet, 
The  young  lip  smiled  while  the  cheek  was  wet. 
Ah  me !  ah  me  !  ah  me  !  a  song  of  joy  and  hope 
Was   heard  afar,  as  I  pulled  my  rope,  as  I  pulled 
my  rope. 

I  set  the  bell  a-tolling, 

When  the  bride  to  the  churchyard  was  borne, 
And  the  dismal  notes  went  rolling, 

To  tell  of  a  heart  forlorn  ; 
The  wandering  children  stood  aghast, 
As  sable  mourners  by  them  passed, 
"  And  she  is  gone,  so  fair,  so  young," 
Thus  loud  lamented  the  iron  tongue. 
Ah  me  1  ah  me  !  ah  me !  a  song  of  perished  hope 
Was  heard  afar,  as  I  pulled  my  rope,  as  I  pulled 
my  rope. 

I  set  the  bell  a-pealing, 

When  shadow  has  buried  the  day, 
And  a  wondrous  spell  is  stealing 

O'er  the  hearts  of  the  grave  and  gay ; 
The  aged  hear  the  funeral  chime, 
Of  slowly,  surely  dying  time  ; 


21 


The  youthful  hear  a  cheering  strain, 

That  tells  them  day  will  revive  again; 

Ah  me !  ah  me  !  ah  me  I  a  song  of  grief  and  hope 

Is  heard  afar,  as  I  pull  my  rope,  as  I  pull  my  rope. 


Eobin  Adair. 


What's  this  dull  town  to  me  ? 

Robin's  not  near ! 
What  was  t  I  wished  to  see  ? 

What  wished  to  hear  ? 
Where's  all  the  joy  and  mirth 
Made  this  town  a  heaven  on  earth  T 
Oh  !  they're  all  fled  with  thee, 

Robin  Adair  ! 

What  made  the  assembly  shine  ? 

Robin  Adair ! 
What  made  the  ball  so  fine  ? 

Robin  was  there  ! 
What,  when  the  play  was  o'er, 

What  made  my  heart  so  sore  ? 
Oh  !  it  was  parting  with 

Robin  Adair ! 

But  now  thou'rt  cold  to  me, 

Robin  Adair  ! 
But  now  thou'rt  cold  to  me, 

Robin  Adair  ! 
Yet  he  I  loved  so  well 
Still  in  my  heart  shall  dwell ! 
Oh  !  I  can  ne'er  forget 

Robin  Adair. 


22 


Johnny  Schmoker. 

Copied  bv  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
&5  Clark  st.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Johnny  Schmoker,  Johnny  Schmoker, 
Ich  kann  spielen,  Ich  kann  spielen, 
Ich  kann  spiel  mein  kline  drummel ; 
Rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  das  ist  mein  drummel. 

Johnny  Schmoker,  Johnny  Schmoker, 
Ich  kann  spielen,  Ich  kann  spielen, 
Ich  kann  spiel  mein  kline  fifie ; 
Pilly,  willy,  wink,  das  ist  mein  fifie, 
Rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  das  ist  mein  drummel ; 
Mein  rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  mein  pilly,  willy,  wink,  das 
ist  mein  fifie. 

Johnny  Schmoker,  Johnny  Schmoker, 
Ich  kann  spielen,  Ich  kann  spielen, 
Ich  kann  spiel  mein  klein  triangle ; 
Tic,  knock,  knock,  das  ist  triangle, 
Pilly,  willy,  wink,  das  ist  mein  fifie, 
Rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  das  ist  mein  drummel ; 
Mein  rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  mein  pilly,  wTilly,  wink,  mein 
tic,  knock,  knock,  das  ist  triangle. 

Johnny  Schmoker,  Johnny  Schmoker, 
Ich  kann  spielen,  Ich  kann  spielen, 
Ich  kann  spiel  mein  kline  trombone ; 
Bom,  bom,  bom,  das  ist  mein  trombone, 
Tic,  knock,  knock,  das  ist  triangle, 
Pilly,  willy,  wink,  das  ist  mein  fifie, 
Rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  das  ist  mein  drummel ; 
Mein  rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  mein  pilly  willy  wink,  mein 

tic,  knock,  knock,  mein  bom,  bom,  bom,  das 

ist  mein  trombone. 


23 


Johnny  Schmoker,  Johnny  Schmoker, 
Ich  kann  spielen,  Ich  kann  spielen, 
IcU  kann  spiel  mcin  klinc  cymbal ; 
Zoom,  zoom,  zoom,  das  ist  mcin  cymbal 
Bom,  bom,  bom,  das  ist  mein  trombone 
Tic,  knock,  knock,  das  ist  triangle, 
Pilly,  willy,  wink,  das  ist  mein  fifie, 
Rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  das  ist  mein  drummel , 

Mein  rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  mein  pilly,  willy,  wink,  mein 
tic,  knock,  knock,  mein  bom,  bom,  bom,  mein 
zoom,  zoom,  zoom,  das  ist  mein  cymbal. 
Johnny  Schmoker,  Johnny  Schmoker, 
Ich  kann  spielen,  Ich  kann  spielen, 
Ich  kann  spiel  mein  kline  viol ; 
Fal,  lal,  lal,  das  ist  mein  viol, 
Zoom,  zoom,  zoom,  das  ist  mein  cymbal, 
Bom,  bom,  bom,  das  ist  mein  trombone, 
Tic,  knock,  knock,  das  ist  triangle, 
Pilly,  willy,  wink,  das  ist  mein  fifie, 
Rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  das  ist  mein  drummel ; 

Mein  rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  mein  pilly,  willy,  wink,  mein  tic, 
knock,  knock,  mein  bom,  bom,  bom,  mein  zoom, 
zoom,  zoom,  mein  fal,  lal,  lal,  das  ist  mein  viol. 
Johnny  Schmoker,  Johnny  Schmoker, 
Ich  kann  spielen,  Ich  kann  spielen, 
Ich  kann  spiel  mein  kline  toodle-sach ; 
"Whack,  whack,  whack,  das  ist  mein  toodle-sach, 
Fal,  lal,  lal,  das  ist  mein  viol, 
Zoom,  zoom,  zoom,  das  ist  mein  cymbal, 
Bom,  bom,  bom,  das  ist  mein  trombone, 
Tic,  knock,  knock,  das  ist  triangle, 
Pilly,  willy,  wink,  das  ist  mein  fifie, 
Rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  das  ist  mein  drummel ; 

Mein  rub,  a  dub,  a  dub,  etc.,  das  ist  mein  toodle-sach. 


24 


Sleeping  for  the  flag. 

Copied  by  permission  of   Root   &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
55  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

When  our  boys  come  home  in  triumph,  brother, 

With  the  laurels  they  shall  gain ; 
When  we  go  to  give  them  welcome,  brother, 

"We  shall  look  for  you,  in  vain ; 
We  shall  wait  for  your  returning,  brother,  - 

Though  we  know  it  can  not  be ; 
For  your  comrades  left  you  sleeping,  brother, 

Underneath  a  southern  tree. 

CHORUS. 

Sleeping  to  waken 

In  this  weary  world  no  more ; 
Sleeping  for  your  true-loved  country,  brother, 

Sleeping  for  the  flag  you  bore. 

You,  who  were  the  first  on  duty,  brother, 

When  u  to  arms  "  your  leader  cried, 
You  have  left  the  ranks  forever,  brother, 

You  have  laid  your  arms  aside ; 
From  the  awful  scenes  of  battle,  brother, 

You  were  set  forever  free, 
When  your  comrades  left  you  sleeping,  brother, 

Underneath  that  southern  tree.  (Chorus.) 

You  have  crossed  the  clouded  river,  brother, 

To  the  mansions  of  the  blest, 
"  Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,"  brother, 

"  And  the  weary  are  at  rest ;" 
Surely  we  would  not  recall  you,  brother, 

But  the  tears  flow  fast  and  free, 
When  we  think  of  you  as  sleeping,  brother, 

Underneath  that  southern  tree.  (Chorus.) 


25 


Jack  on  the  Green. 

Copied  br  permission  of  Wm,  A  Pond  &  Co.,  Muiic  PublUheri, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owner*  of  the  copyright. 

Tis  ober  de  hills  so  high,  an'  down  in  de  valleys  low, 
Chorus. — Jis'  hear  dat  noise,  so  wake  up  boys,  dar's 

a  niggar  on  de  wood-pile,  sure. 
Dey  squash  de  sugar  cane,  an'  boiling  'lasses  flow. 
CnoRUs. — I  dressed  so  neat  an'  so  clean,  to  meet  old 

Jack  on  do  green. 

CHORUS. 

Be  ready  cut  an'  dry,  de  moon  am  gettin'  high ; 
Sally  Ann,  scratch  your  track  in  de  grabble,  an'  be 
off  'fore  de  broke  o'  day ; 
You  kiss  her  shiney  face,  den  sugar  lose  its  taste, 
Her  eye  shine  like  a  long  taller  candle  for  to  gib 
us  a  light  on  de  way. 

Old  Jack  was  a  hunkey  boy,  he  was  de  fam'ly  pride, 
He  was  a  kin  to  his  mam,  all  by  his  fader's  side. 

De  niggars  in  de  town,  dey  calls  him  "  Brudder  Chip," 
It  took  ten  pair  ob  hinges,  to  hang  his  under  lip. 

Old  Jack  was  ten  feet  high,  and  forty  feet  aroun', 
He  hab  to  look  down  twice  before  he  seen  de  groun'. 

He  nebber  could  make  lub,  which  did  de  ladies  vex, 
Dey  court  him  haff  one  day,  and  tudder  haff  de  nex'. 

Dar's  Uncle  Sam  dey  say,  hab  spoken  to  his  dad, 
To  buy  Jack's  cow-hide  boots,  to  make  an  iron  clad. 

But  fadder  Abram  says :  '•  I  knows  what  I'm  about, 
I'm  gwine  to  charter  Jack,  to  tread  de  rebels  out !" 


26 


The  Knitting  Song. 

Copied  by  permission  of  John  Church,  Jr.,  Music  Publisher, 
66  West  Fourth  street,  Cincinnati,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Knit!    Knit!    Knit! 
For  our  Northern  soldiers  brave ! 

Knit!    Knit!    Knit! 
While  the  Stars  and  Stripes  they  wave ! 
While  they  the  rebels  in  battle  meet, 
Be  yours  to  fashion  with  fingers  fleet, 
The  nice  warm  socks  for  weary  feet. 
Knit !    Knit !     Knit ! 
Chorus. — For  our  boys  on  Southern  hills, 
Our  boys  in  Southern  vales, 
By  the  woods  and  streams  of  Dixie's  land, 
Are  feeling  the  wintry  gales. 

Knit !     Knit !    Knit ! 
The  socks  and  mittens  and  gloves  ! 

Knit!    Knit!    Knit! 
Each  one  that  her  country  loves ! 
Lay  by  the  useless,  though  beautiful  toy, 
With  which  you  many  an  hour  employ, 
And  knit,  instead,  for  the  soldier  boy. 
Knit!    Knit!    Knit! 
Knit!    Knit!    Knit!  (Chorus.) 

Narrow,  and  widen,  and  seam, 

Knit!    Knit!    Knit! 
Till  the  flying  needles  gleam. 
Knit  till  the  mitten  lies  complete, 
Knit  till  the  socks  for  the  weary  feet 
The  eye  of  each  patient  soldier  greet. 

Knit!    Knit!    Knit!  (Chorus.) 


27 


Knit!     Knit!    Knit! 
And  knit  with  many  a  prayer  I 

Knit !     Knit !     Knit ! 
Pray  God  the  lives  to  spare 
Of  loved  ones,  soon  on  the  battle-field 
The  deadly  weapons  of  war  to  wield, 
And  pray  that  the  foe  before  them  yield 
Knit !    Knit !    Knit ! 
Chorus. — For  our  boys  on  Southern  hills, 
Our  boys  in  Southern  vales, 
By  the  woods  and  streams  of  Dixie's  land, 
Are  feeling  the  wintry  gales. 


The  Coat  of  Other  Days. 

The  coat  of  other  days  is  fadec, 

And  all  its  beauties  past ; 
My  friends  no  longer  look  as  they  did, 

But  like  it  are  fading  fast ; 
When  first  I  sported  it,  a  new  one, 

Its  buttons  threw  Sol's  rays, 
But  now,  no  longer  'tis  a  new  one — 
r     The  coat  of  other  days. 

The  cuffs  and  collar  now  are  greasy, 

Not  a  bit  of  nap  is  there ; 
'Twas  tight,  but  now  it  fits  me  easy, 

As  a  cheap  fit  at  Rag  Fair ; 
The  very  velvet  on  the  collar, 

Is  now  all  grease  and  frays ; 
And  the  boys,  as  I  pass  by  them,  hullo : 

M  There's  a  coat  of  other  days  I" 


28 


The  Old  House  Far  Away. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cjldy,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  wild  bird  warbles,  and  silvery  rills 

Sing  cheerfully  round  the  spot, 
And  the  peaceful  shade  of  the  purple  hills 

Falls  dim  on  my  mother's  cot ; 
Its  windows  were  small,  and  its  thatch  is  low, 

And  its  ancient  halls  are  gray ; 
Oh,  I  see  it,  I  love  it,  where'er  I  go, 

That  old  house  far  away. 

The  little  clock  ticks  on  the  parlor  wall, 

Recording  the  passing  hours ; 
And  the  pet  geranium  grows  rank  and  tall, 

With  its  brilliant  scarlet  flowers ; 
And  the  old  straw  chair,  so  cosy  and  low, 

Where  mother  sat  knitting  all  day ; 
Oh,  I  see  it,  I  love  it,  where'er  I  go, 

That  old  house  far  away. 

Dear  mother,  how  plainly  I  see  her  now, 

Reclining  in  that  old  chair, 
With  the  sunset  resting  upon  her  brow, 

That  once  was  so  smooth  and  fair ; 
With  her  crimped  border,  white  as  snow, 

And  her  once  dark  hair  now  gray, 
Oh,  my  heart  is  with  her,  where'er  I  go, 

In  that  old  house  far  away. 

Not  all  the  treasures  the  world  affords, 

The  riches  of  land  and  sea ; 
Not  all  the  wealth  of  earth's  proud  lords, 

Can  blot  from  my  memory 


29 


The  roof  that  sheltered  each  dear,  dear  head, 

And  the  humble  floor  of  clay, 
Where  the  feet  of  those  I  love  now  tread, 

In  the  old  house  far  away. 


The  First  Love  Dream. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Last  night,  mother,  he  told  me  so, 

As  we  walked  by  the  pebbly  stream ; 
And  I  wake  so  happy,  so  wild  with  joy, 

It  seems  like  a  fairy  dream ; 
But  his  charming  voice  is  ringing  in  my  ear, 

As  a  dream-voice  could  not  be ; 
He's  the  best  man,  you  know,  in  the  whole  wide  world, 

And  he  loves,  he  only  loves  me. 
Kiss  me,  mother,  and  share  the  joy, 

That  has  on  my  fortune  smiled ; 
You  have  shared  my  sorrows  whene'er  I  wept, 

Since  I  was  a  little  child ; 
Do  you  chide  me  now  ?    "What  could  your  darling  do 

When  he  plead  with  bended  knee ; 
He's  the  best  man,  you  know,  in  the  whole  wide  world, 

And  he  loves,  he  only  loves  me. 
Leave  you,  mother  ?     It  brings  a  pang 

To  this  light  and  bounding  heart ; 
But  if  Tie  were  calling,  the  bride  would  go, 

Though  you  and  the  daughter  part ; 
At  a  word  from  Mm,  a  beckon  of  his  hand, 

I  would  cross  the  rolling  sea ; 
He's  the  best  man,  you  know,  in  the  whole  wide  world, 

And  he  loves,  he  only  loves  me. 


30 


Daisy  Deane. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publisher*, 
95  Clark  et.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

'Twas  down  in  the  meadows,  the  violets  were  blow- 
ing, 
And  the  springtime  grass  was  fresh  and  green ; 
And  the  birds  by  the  brooklet  their  sweet  songs  were 
singing 
When  I  first  met  my  darling  Daisy  Deane 

CHORUS. 

None  knew  thee  but  to  love  thee,  thou  dear  one  of 
my  heart, 
Oh,  thy  memory  is  ever  fresh  and  green  ; 
Though  the  sweet  buds  may  wither  and  fond  hearts 
be  broken, 
Still  Til  love  thee,  my  darling  Daisy  Deane. 

Her  eyes  soft  and  tender,  the  violets  outvieing, 

And  a  fairer  form  was  never  seen, 
With   her  brown  silken  tresses,  her  cheek  like   the 
roses, 

There  was  none  like  my  darling  Daisy  Deane. 

The  bright  flowers  are  faded,  the  young  grass  has 
fallen, 

And  a  dark  cloud  hovers  o'er  the  scene ; 
For  the  death-angel  took  her,  and  left  me  in  sorrow, 

For  my  lost  one,  my  darling  Daisy  Deane. 

Oh,  down  in  the  meadows  I  still  love  to  wander, 
Where  the  young  grass  grew  so  fresh  and  green  ; 

But    the   bright,  golden  visions   of    springtime  have 
faded, 
With  the  flowers,  and  my  darling  Daisy  Deane. 


31 


We'll  go  down  Ourselves. 

Copied  bjr  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publisher*, 
95  Clark  6treet,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

"  What  shall  we  do,  as  years  go  by, 

And  peace  remains  a  stranger, 
With  Richmond  yet  in  rebel  hands, 

And  Washington  in  danger  ? 
What  shall  we  do  for  leaders,  when 

Old  age  this  race  Is  cropping?" 
I  asked  some  ladies  whom  I  met, 
And  didn't  it  set  them  hopping ! 
Chorus. — M  What  shall  we  do  ?     W^hat  shall  we  do  ? 
Why,  lay  them  on  the  shelves, 
And  we'll  go  down  ourselves, 
And  teach  the  rebels  something  new." 

44  What  shall  we  do  when  armies  march 

To  storm  the  rebel  quarters, 
If,  as  of  yore,  their  marches  end, 

Beside  Potomac's  waters  ? 
May  not  we  call  our  soldiers  home, 

May  not  we  think  of  stopping  ?" 
I  strove  to  frame  the  question  fair, 

But  didn't  it  set  them  hopping !    (Cnoiius.) 

"  What  shall  we  do  when  all  the  men 

For  battle  have  enlisted, 
And  yet  the" rebels  hold  their  ground, 

And  law  is  yet  resisted  ?" 
Instead  of  doing  as  I  should, 

The  theme  politely  dropping, 
I  ventured  yet  one  question  more, 

Oh,  didn't  it  set  them  hopping!    (Chobus.) 


32 


Oh,  Bless  me,  Mother,  ere  I  Die, 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher*, 
563  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

"  Oh,  bless  me,  mother,  ere  I  die," 
A  wounded  soldier  said  ; 
You'll  be  so  rery  lonely  now, 
Alone  when  I  am  dead ; 
Think  kindly  of  me  when  I'm  gone, 
And  sometimes  breathe  a  prayer, 
That  when  my  sufferings  shall  cease, 
We'll  meet  together  there. 
Chorus. — "  Oh,  bless  me,  mother, 
Bless  me  ere  I  die ; 
Oh,  bless  me,  mother, 
Bless  me  ere  I  die. 

M  Oh,  tell  me,  mother,  tell  me  true, 

Who  gained  the  victory ; 
Are  all  my  comrades  gone,  mother, 

Am  I  alone  with  thee  ? 
My  eyes  grow  dim,  I  can  not  see, 

Oh,  fold  me  to  your  heart ; 
And  kiss  me  once  again,  mother, 

Oh,  kiss  me  ere  we  part  (Chorus.) 

"  I  hear  soft  music  on  the  air, 

Oh,  cool  my  burning  brow  ; 
The  angels  beckon  from  above, 

I  feel  so  happy  now ; 
So  bless  me,  mother,  ere  I  die, 

And  fold  me  to  your  heart ; 
You'll  miss  me,  mother,  very  much, 

Oh,  kiss  me  ere  we  part."         (Chorus.) 


98 


Bread  and  Cheese  and  Kisses. 

One  night  my  sweetheart  came  to  woo, 
When  I  was  left  and  lonely, 

He  looked  so  kind,  and  handsome,  too, 
I  loved  him,  and  him  only. 

The  village  chime  told  supper  time, 
What  could  I  do,  dear  misses  ? 

For  as  I  live,  I'd  naught  to  give, 
But  bread  and  cheese  and  kisses. 


He  asked  my  hand  with  such  a  grace, 
What  woman  could  refuse  him ; 

I  think  had  you  been  in  my  place, 
You'd  say  'twas  right  to  choose  him . 

I  hung  my  head,  and  simp' ring  said — 
What  couH  I  say,  dear  misses  ? 

I  will  be  thine,  though  we  should  dine 
On  bread  and  cheese  and  kisses. 

Next  morning  we  exchanged  our  vows, 

I  prize  his  golden  present, 
Which  seems  like  magic  to  disclose 

Each  moment  something  pleasant. 

His  cheerful  smiles  each  care  beguiles, 

Believe  me,  dearest  misses, 
Tis  bliss  to  share  with  him  our  fare, 

Though  bread  and  cheese  and  kisses. 


34 


A  Vesper  Song. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publiskers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

We  are  sitting  by  the  cottage-door,  brother, 

In  the  hush  of  the  twilight's  spell ; 
We  are  gathered  as  in  days  of  yore,  brother, 

With  a  song  bidding  day  farewell ; 
But  there's  a  vacant  place  in  our  circle  so  dear, 

And  our  song  has  lost  its  wonted  glee ; 
And  there's  an  aching  void  in  ev'ry  heart,  brother, 

As  we  murmur  a  prayer  for  thee. 

CHORUS. 

Yes,  there's  a  vacant  place  in  our  circle  so  dear, 
And  our  song  has  lost  its  wonted  glee ; 

And  there's  an  aching  void  in  ev'ry  heart,  brother, 
As  we  murmur  a  prayer  for  thee. 

There's  a  faintly  growing  fringe  of  light,  brother, 

Where  the  sun  lately  sank  from  view; 
And  the  gentle  sheperdness  of  night,  brother, 

Leads  her  flock  through  the  fields  of  blue ; 
But  even  this  dear  scene  fails  to  chann  us  now, 

And  our  music  lacks  its  wonted  glee ; 
And  there's  an  aching  void  in  every  heart,  brother, 

As  we  murmur  a  prayer  for  thee.     (Chorus.) 

As  a  watcher  counts  the  moments'  flight,  brother, 

Till  a  long  weary  night  shall  cease, 
So  through  all  this  fearful  war's  deep  night,  brother, 

We  have  watched  for  a  morn  of  peace ; 
And  with  our  pray'r  that  heav'n  may  maintain  our  cause, 

And  give  truth  and  right  the  victory, 
We  can  but  breathe  a  wish  for  thy  return,  brother, 

As  we  murmur  a  prayer  for  thee.         (Chorus.) 


35 


But  if,  ere  that  glorious  morn  shall  come,  hrother, 

When  with  victory  the  strife  shall  close, 
And  the  heroes  of  the  war  come  home,  brother, 

Wearing  laurels  upon  their  brows ; 
Oh,  then  to  see  thee  stand  in  that  honored  band, 

Were  a  joy  too  deep  for  music's  glee, 
And  with  this  hope  our  fainting  hearts  we'll  stay,brother, 

As  we  murmur  a  prayer  for  thee.  (Chorus.) 


The  Ham  Pat  Man. 

Copied  by  permission  pf  John  Church,  Jr.,  Music  Publisher, 
66  West  Fourth  street,  Cincinnati,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

White  folks  I  come  before  you  now,  to  try  to  please 

you  all, 
I'm  right  from  old  Virginny,  sassy,  ragged,  fat  and  tall ; 
You  talk  about  your  comfort,  ole  massa  am  de  man, 
Dat  gibs  de  nigger  ham  fat  smoking  in  de  pan. 

CHORUS. 

Ilam  fat,  ham  fat,  zigga,  zolla,  zan, 

Ham  fat,  ham  fat,  tickle  olla  tan ; 

Oh,  walk  into  de  kitchen,  as  quick  as  you  can, 

Hoochee,  kouchee,  kouchee,  says  the  ham  fat  man. 

When  wittels  am  so  plenty,  oh,  I  bound  to  get  my  till ; 
I  know  a  pretty  yaller  gal,  and  I  love  her  to  kill ; 
If  any  nigger  fools  wid  her,  I'll  tan  him  if  I  can, 
A  hoochee,  koochee,  koochee,  says  the  ham  fat  man. 

Oh,  fare  you  well,  good  white  folks,  I  now  must  go  away, 
I'll  lay  back  and  stay  back,  in  clover  all  the  day ; 
I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  now,  as  long  as  I  can  stand, 
I'll  stick  to  the  Union  and  the  ham  fat  man. 


36 


Footsteps  on  the  Stairs. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
563  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  miss  them  now,  those  little  feet, 

That  used  to  come  so  oft% 
The  little  voice  that  used  to  speak, 

So  sweet,  so  silvery  soft ; 
And  now,  when  I  am  all  alone, 

Engrossed  in  daily  cares, 
I  listen,  but  'tis  all  in  vain, 

For  the  "  footsteps  on  the  stairs," 

For  when  I  read,  or  sing,  or  play, 

Or  join  in  pleasures  sweet, 
I  seem  to  see  her  glad  and  gay, 

And  miss  those  little  feet ; 
Oh,  it  is  hard  to  think  she's  gone, 

"With  all  her  winning  airs ; 
To  think  I  never  more  shall  hear 

Her  "  footsteps  on  the  stairs." 

Her  golden  curls  still  cluster  round, 

Her  brow  so  white  and  clear ; 
And  on  her  face,  now  pale  and  cold, 

I've  shed  full  many  a  tear ; 
The  lids  have  drooped  o'er  those  blue  eyes, 

Death's  icy  seal  is  theirs ; 
*Tis  He  that  has  forever  hushed 

Those  "  footsteps  on  the  stairs." 

I  know  her  feet  are  walking  now, 
The  shining  streets  of  heaven ; 

I  know  that  to  that  dear  one's  brow, 
A  golden  crown  is  given ; 


I'm  thankful  that  she  is  at  rest, 
Safe  from  earth's  sinful  snares ; 

Yet  still  I  weep  and  pause  to  hear 
The  "  footsteps  en  the  stairs,'1 


Johnny  is  my  Darling. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

'Twas  on  a  sunny  morning, 

The  brightest  in  the  year, 
When  Johnny  came  to  our  town, 

A  Union  Volunteer. 

CHORUS. 

Oh,  Johnny  is  my  darling, 

My  darling,  my  darling ; 
Oh,  Johnny  is  my  darling, 

The  Union  volunteer. 

As  he  came  marching  up  the  street, 
The  bands  played  loud  and  clear, 

And  every  one  came  out  to  greet, 

The  Union  volunteer.  (Chorus.) 

With  proudly  waving  starry  flags, 
And  hearts  that  knew  no  fear ; 

He  came  to  fight  for  freemen's  rights, 
A  Union  volunteer.  (Chorus.) 

But  though  he's  gone  to  glory  win, 

And  I  left  lonely  here, 
He'll  soon  return  to  me  again, 

As  Cupid's  volunteer.  (Chorus.) 


38 

The  Dear  Ones  all  at  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Beyond  the  smiling  and  the  weeping 

I  shall  be  soon ; 
Beyond  the  waking  and  the  sleeping, 
Beyond  the  sowing  and  the  reaping, 
I  shall  be  soon. 
Chorus. — Love,  rest  and  home,  sweet,  sweet  home, 
Oh,  how  sweet  it  will  be  there  to  meet 
The  dear  ones  all  at  home. 

Beyond  the  blooming  and  the  fading, 

I  will  be  soon ; 
Beyond  the  shining  and  the  shading, 
Beyond  the  hoping  and  the  dreading, 

I  shall  be  soon.                  (Chorus.) 

Beyond  the  rising  and  the  setting, 

1  shall  be  soon  ; 
Beyond  the  calming  and  the  fretting, 
Beyond  remembering  and  forgetting, 

I  shall  be  soon.                  (Chorus.) 

Beyond  the  parting  and  the  meeting, 

I  shall  be  soon ; 
Beyond  the  farewell  and  the  greeting, 
Beyond  the  pulse's  fever  beating, 

I  shall  be  soon.                  (Chorus.) 

Beyond  the  frost-chain  and  the  fever, 

I  shall  be  soon  ; 
Beyond  the  rock  waste  and  river, 
Beyond  the  ever  and  the  never, 

I  shall  be  soon.                  (Chorus.) 

; 

39 


Three  Eoguish  Chaps. 

In  good  old  colony  times, 

When  our  fathers  were  under  the  king, 
Three  roguish  chaps  fell  into  mishaps, 

Because  they  could  not  sing ; 
Because  they  could  not  sing, 

Because  they  could  not  sing ; 
Three  roguish  chaps  fell  into  mishaps, 

Because  they  could  not  sing. 

The  first  he  was  a  miller, 

And  the  second  he  was  a  weaver, 

And  the  third  he  was  a  little  tailor, 
Three  roguish  chaps  together. 

Now  the  miller  he  stole  corn, 

And  the  weaver  he  stole  yarn, 
And  the  little  tailor  stole  broadcloth  for 

To  keep  these  three  rogues  warm. 

The  miller  got  drowned  in  his  dam, 
The  weaver  got  hung  in  his  yarn, 

And  the  sheriff  clapped  his  paw  on  the  little  tailor, 
With  the  broadcloth  under  his  arm. 

Now  if  these  three  roguish  chaps, 

Who  flourished  under  the  king, 
Had  lived  to  see  as  much  as  me, 

They'd  surely  have  learned  to  sing. 

Then  the  miller  could  sing  to  his  love, 

And  the  weaver  comfort  his  wife, 
And  the  little  tailor  make  ballads  for 

To  keep  these  three  rogues  right. 


40 


Tkoul't  come  nevermore  to  the  Stream 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publisher*, 
95  Clark  et.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Thou  wilt  come  nevermore  to  the  stream,  Kitty, 

To  the  sweet  little  "brook  'neath  the  hill, 
And  with  low  and  plaintive  moan  will  its  wild  waves 
hurry  on, 

To  the  river  that  winds  by  the  mill ; 
Oh,  the  flowers  will  bloom  just  so  bright,  Kitty, 

And  the  wild  bird  sing  sweet  in  the  bough, 
But  I  seek  for  you  in  vain,  through  the  forest,  on  the  plain, 

Oh,  Kitty  dear,  my  heart  is  breaking  now. 

CHORUS. 

My  own  Kitty,  clear  Kitty, 

Kitty  of  the  silver  maple  glen, 
I  may  seek  the  little  nook,  by  the  music  haunted  brook, 

But  I'll  never  see  my  Kitty  Clyde  again. 
Here's  your  basket  and  line,  they're  unused,  Kitty, 

And  the  rust  gathers  thick  on  the  hook, 
And  the  grass  is  tall  and  rank,  on  the  mossy  shaded  bank, 

And  it  covers  the  path  to  the  brook ; 
There's  a  sigh  in  the  voice  of  the  wind,  Kitty, 

And  the  flowers  seem  to  weep  tears  of  dew  ; 
And  the  little  stars  above,  that  once  smiled  upon  our  love, 

Are  ever  watching,  Kitty  dear,  for  you. 
I  am  kneeling  alone  by  thy  grave,  Kitty, 

'Neath  the  maple  that  stands  on  the  hill ; 
Thou  wilt  meet  me  nevermore  on  the  fiow'ry  mossyshore 

Of  the  river  that  winds  by  the  mill ; 
I  am  wTand'ring  alone  by  the  stream,  Kitty, 

There  is  grief  in  the  sigh  of  the  wave ; 
And  thro'  all  the  coming  years  I  shall  water  with  my  tears 

The  flowers  that  are  blooming  o'er  thy  grave. 


41 


Within  the  sound  of  the  enemy's  guns, 

Coifed  hy  permission   of   Root   &  Cady,   Mnsic   Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Within  the  sound  of  the  enemy's  guns, 
Within  their  sound  arc  we; 

A  gallant  band  of  patriot  sons, 
Fighting  the  battles  of  Liberty, 
Beneath  the  folds  of  the  "  Flag  of  the  Free/' 

Boom!  boom!  now,  now  ye  Northern  sons 

Rouse,  rouse  at  the  sound  of  the  enemy's  guns; 

Yes,  rouse,  rouse  at  the  sound  of  the  enemy's  guns. 


Within  the  range  of  the  enemy's  guns, 

Within  their  range  are  we ; 
The  Parrot  shell  through  the  hot  air  hums, 
The  Minnie  shower  from  the  thicket  comes ; 

Stand  firm,  stand  firm,  ye  ranks  of  the  free! 
Boom !  boom  !  now,  now,  Columbia's  sons, 
Charge,  charge,  and  take  the  enemy's  guns; 
Yes,  charge,  charge,  and  take  the  enemy's  guns. 


All  silenced  the  roar  of  the  enemy's  guns, 

All  silenced  their  lips  have  we; 
Awake  the  roll  of  the  battle  drums, 
Raise  high  the  cheer  that  surging  comes 

In  the  hour,  in  the  hour  of  victor}-. 
Boom  !  Boom  !  now,  now,  oh,  gallant  ones, 
Seize,  seize  for  your  trophies,  the  enemy's  guns ; 
Yes,  seize,  seize  for  your  trophies  the  enemy's  guns. 


42 


Tin  G-oing  to  Fight  mit  Siegel. 

I've  come  shust  now,  to  tells  you  kow 

I  goes  mit  regimentals, 
To  scklauck  dem  voes  of  liberty, 

Like  dem  old  Continentals, 
Vot  fights  mit  England  long  ago, 

To  save  de  Yankee  eagle ; 
Un  now  I  gets  my  sojer  clothes, 

I'm  going  to  fight  mit  Siegel. 
Chorus. — Yaw,  daus  is  true,  I  shpeaks  mit  you, 
I'm  going  to  fight  mit  Siegel. 

Yen  I  comes  from  the  Deutsche  countree, 

I  vorks  somedimes  at  baking ; 
Den  I  keeps  a  lager-bier  saloon, 

Un  den  I  goes  shoe-making ; 
But  now  I  was  a  sojer  been, 

To  save  de  Yankee  eagle ; 
To  schlauck  dem  tarn  secession  volks, 

I'm  going  to  figkt  mit  Siegel.    (Chorus.) 

I  gets  ein  tarn  big  rifle  guns, 

Un  puts  kim  to  mine  skoulder, 
Den  marck  so  bold,  like  a  big  jack  korse, 

Un  may  been  someding  bolder ; 
I  goes  off  mit  de  volunteers, 

To  save  de  Yankee  eagle ; 
To  give  dem  rebel  vellers  fits, 

I'm  going  to  figkt  mit  Siegel.    (Chorus.) 

Dem  Deutsken  mens  mit  Siegel's  band, 

At  figkting  kave  no  rival ; 
Un  ven  Ckeff  Davis  mens  we  meet, 

Ve  scklauck  'em  like  de  tuyvil ; 


43 


Dere's  only  yon  t'ing  vot  I  fear, 

Yen  pattling  for  de  eagle, 
I  von't  get  not  no  lager-bier, 

Xcn  I  goes  to  fight  mit  SiegeL  (Ciiorus.) 

For  rations  dey  gives  salty  pork, 

I  dinks  dat  was  a  great  sell ; 
I  petter  likes  de  sour  krout, 

De  switzer  kaise  un  pretzel ; 
If  Shen'ral  Meade  wiH  give  us  deni, 

Ve'll  save  de  Yankee  eagle ; 
Un  I'll  put  mine  vrou  in  breechaloons, 

To  go  un  fight  mit  Siegel.         (Chorus.) 


The  Lily  of  St.  Leonard's. 

In  the  days  of  happy  childhood, 

Pure  and  kind  of  heart  was  she ; 
As  a  child  unto  its  mother, 

"Was  our  lassie  then  to  me ; 
In  the  bloom  of  her  young  beauty, 

We  were  proud  to  spread  her  fame ; 
And  the  Lily  of  St.  Leonard's 

Then  was  worthy  of  her  name. 

Cold  may  be  the  gaze  of  others, 

But  I  cling  to  one  hope  yet ; 
will  not  forsake  the  young  heart, 

Nor  its  former  truth  forget ; 
For  I  feel,  though  clouds  now  hover 

O'er  the  sunshine  of  her  fame, 
That  the  Lily  of  St.  Leonard's 

Will  be  worthy  of  her  name. 


u 


The  Ring  my  Mother  Wore. 

Copied  by  permission  of  John  Church,  Jr.,  Music  Publisher, 
66  West  Fourth  street,  Cincinnati,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

The  earth  has  many  treasures  rare, 

In  gems  and  golden  ore ; 
My  heart  hath  one,  more  precious  far — 

The  ring  my  mother  wore ; 
I  saw  it  first  when  I,  a  child, 

Was  playing  by  her  side ; 
She  told  me  then  'twas  father's  gift 

When  she  became  his  bride. 

I  saw  it  oft  in  sorrow's  hours 

Which  marked  the  after  years, 
When  shining  on  the  soft,  white  hand 

That  wiped  away  my  tears ; 
And  oh,  I  saw  it  once  again, 

When,  on  her  dying  bed, 
She  lifted  up  her  hand  in  prayer, 

And  laid  it  on  my  head. 

Beside  that  bed,  where  fell  my  tears, 

The  ring  to  me  was  given ; 
She  placed  it  on  my  hand,  and  said : 

"  We'll  meet  again  in  heaven ;" 
I  kissed  the  cheek  I  oft  had  pressed, 

From  which  the  rose  had  fled, 
And,  bowed  with  grief,  stood  motherless, 

Alone,  beside  the  dead. 

Among  the  blest,  in  realms  above, 

Where  sorrows  are  unknown, 
Oh,  may  I  meet  my  mother  dear, 

No  more  to  weep  alone ; 


45 


Her  dying  words  of  love  and  faith 

I'll  cherish  evermore 
Within  the  heart  which  holds  so  dear 

The  ring  my  mother  wore. 


Ole  Dan  Tucker. 


I  came  to  town  de  udder  night, 
I  hear  de  noise  an'  saw  de  fight ; 
De  watchman  was  a  runnin'  roun', 
Cryin' :  "  Ole  Dan  Tucker's  come  to  town.' 
Chorus. — So  get  out  de  way,  Old  Dan  Tucker, 
Get  out  de  way,  ole  Dan  Tucker, 
Get  out  de  way,  ole  Dan  Tucker, 
You're  too  late  to  come  to  supper. 

Ole  Dan  he  went  down  to  de  mill 

To  get  some  meal  to  put  in  de  swill ; 

De  miller  he  swore  by  de  point  of  his  knife 

He  never  seed  such  a  man  in  his  life.  (Chorus.) 

Old  Dan  and  I  we  did  fall  out, 

And  what  you  t'ink  it  was  about 

He  tread  on  my  corn,  I  kick  him  on  de  shin, 

And  dat's  de  way  dis  row  begin.  (Chorus.) 

Ole  Dan  begun  in  early  life 

To  play  de  banjo  and  de  fife ; 

He  play  de  niggers  all  to  sleep, 

And  den  into  his  bunk  he  creep.  (Chorus.) 

And  now  Ole  Dan  is  a  gone  sucker, 

And  neber  can  go  home  to  supper ; 

Ole  Dan  he  has  had  his  last  ride, 

And  de  banjo's  buried  by  his  side.  (Chortts.) 


46 


The  Blue  Jay's  Melody. 

Copied  by  permission  of  John  Church,  Jr.,  Music  Publisher, 
63  West  Fourth  street,  Cincinnati,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  since  I  left  my  native  home, 
In  distant  lands  far,  far  to  roam, 
I  find  but  one  thing  dear  to  me, 
It  is  the  blue  jay's  melody ; 
This  old  familiar  song  is  dear, 
It  brings  to  mind  those  once  so  near, 
But  now  are  sleeping  far  away, 
Where  first  I  heard  the  dear  blue  jay. 
Chorus. — The  blue  jay's  song  is  clear  to  me, 
It  wakes  kind  thoughts  in  memory, 
And  brings  to  mind  those  far  away, 
Where  first  I  heard  the  dear  blue  jay 

When  listening  to  his  piping  tune, 
I  think  of  my  lost  Jennie  June, 
Who  went  to  sleep  in  flowery  May, 
When  first  we  heard  the  bright  blue  jay ; 
He  is  the  one  I've  left  to  sing 
Sweet  songs  o'er  her  in  early  spring, 
And  guard  the  one  I  loved  so  long, 
Where  first  I  heard  the  blue  jay's  song. 

This  soul  of  mine  would  soar  above, 

To  dwell  with  her,  my  early  love, 

And  join  the  parents  of  my  youth, 

Who  taught  me  naught  but  love  and  truth ; 

But  He  who  doeth  all  things  well, 

Has  called  them  home  with  Him  to  dwell, 

And  I  shall  go  I  hope  ere  long, 

And  say  good-by  to  the  blue  jay's  song; 


47 


Ah,  he  kissed  me  when  he  left  me. 

Copied  by  permission  of   Root   &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
03  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Ah,  ho  kissed  me  when  he  left  me, 

And  he  told  me  to  be  brave ; 
'4  For  I  go,"  he  whispered,  "  darling, 
All  that's  dear  on  earth  to  save ;" 
So  I  stifled  down  the  sobbing, 
And  I  listened  with  a  smile, 
For  I  knew  his  country  called  him, 

Though  my  heart  should  break  the  while. 
Chorus. — Ah,  he  kissed  me  when  he  left  me, 
And  his  parting  words  remain 
Treasured  deep  within  this  bosom : 
11  Dearest,  we  shall  meet  again." 

Oh,  the  sun  still  shines  as  brightly, 

And  the  world  looks  just  as  gay, 
As  upon  the  fatal  morning, 

That  which  bore  my  love  away 
New,  alas,  the  dust  is  resting 

On  that  bold  and  manly  brow ; 
And  the  heart  that  beat  so  proudly 

Lieth  still  and  quiet  now.  (Chorus.) 

Yes,  ho  fell,  his  clear  voice  ringing 

Loud,  to  cheer  his  comrades  on ; 
But  how  much  of  joy  and  sunshine 

Is  with  him  forever  gone ; 
Where  now  the  pine-tree  rustles, 

And  the  southern  branches  wave, 
There  my  own  true  love  is  lying, 

Low  within  a  soldier's  grave.    (Chorus.) 


48 


Katy's  Letter. 


Och,  girls  dear,  did  you  ever  hear 

I  wrote  my  love  a  letter, 
And  although  he  can  not  read, 

I  thought  'twas  all  the  better, 
For  why  should  he  be  puzzled 

With  hard  spelling  in  the  matter, 
When  the  maning  was  so  plain 

That  I  loved  him  faithfully, 

And  he*  knows  it — oh,  he  knows  it — 

Without  one  word  from  me. 

I  wrote  it,  and  I  folded  it, 

And  put  a  seal  upon  it, 
'Twas  a  seal  almost  as  big 

As  the  crown  of  my  best  bonnet ; 
For  I  would  not  have  the  postmaster 

Make  his  remarks  upon  it, 
As  I'd  said  inside  the  letter 

That  I  loved  him  faithfully, 

And  he  knows  it — oh,  he  knows  it — 

Without  one  word  from  me. 

My  heart  was  full,  but  when  I  wrote 

I  dare  not  put  it  half  in, 
The  neighbors  know  I  love  him, 

And  they're  mighty  fond  of  chaffing ; 
So  I  dare  not  write  his  name  outside, 

For  fear  they  .would  be  laughing, 
So  I  wrote :  "  From  little  Kate  to  one 

Whom  she  loves  faithfully," 

And  he  knows  it — oh,  he  knows  it — 

Without  one  word  from  me. 


49 


Now,  girls,  would  you  believe  it, 

That  postman,  so  consated, 
iSo  answer  will  he  bring  me, 

So  long  as  I  have  waited ; 
But  maybe  there  maynt  be  one 

For  the  rason  that  I  stated, 
That  my  love  can  neither  read  nor  write, 

But  loves  me  faithfully, 

And  I  know  where'er  my  love  is, 

That  he  is  true  to  me. 


Dream  on,  Lillie. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Root   &  Cadt,  Mnsic  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  ©f  the  copyright. 

Sleeping,  dreaming,  gentle  Lillie  Lee, 
Dreaming,  Lillie,  dreamest  thou  of  me  ? 
Angels  whisper  softly  in  thine  ear, 
Sleep  on,  Lillie,  they  are  hov'ring  near. 
Chorus. — Dream  on,  dream  on,  gentle  Lillie  Lee, 
Still  kind  angels  ever  near  thee  be, 
Softly,  sweetly,  whisp'ring  in  thine  ear : 
"  Darling  Lillie,  thou  hast  naught  to  fear." 

Dream  on,  dream  on,  cares  of  life  away, 
Wake  not,  Lillie,  'til  the  dawn  of  day 
Comes  with  rosy  fingers  tipt  with  light, 
Driving  far  the  shadows  of  the  night. 

Dream  on,  Lillie,  may  no  shade  of  care 
Dim  thy  vision  now  so  bright  and  fair ; 
Dream  on,  Lillie,  slumber  while  you  may, 
Brightest  dreams  will  vanish  with  the  day. 


50 


Cousin  Jedediah. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  Jacob,  get  the  cows  home,  and  put  them  in  the  pen, 
For  the  cousins  are  a-coming  to  see  us  all  again ; 
The  dowdy's  in  the  pan,  and  the  turkey's  on  the  fire, 
And  we  all  must  get  ready  for  Cousin  Jedediah. 

CHORUS. 

There's  Hezekiah,  and  Azariah,  and  Aunt  Sophia,  and 
Jedediah, 
All  coming  here  to  tea ; 
Oh,  won't  we  have  a  jolly  time,  oh,  won't  we  have  a 
jolly  time; 
Jerusha,  put  the  kettle  on,  we'll  all  take  tea. 

]STow,Obed,wash  your  face,boy,and  tallow  up  your  shoes, 
While  I  go  to  see  Aunt  Betty,  and  tell  her  all  the  news  ; 
And,Kkty, slick  your  hair,and  put  on  your  Sunday  gown, 
For  Cousin  Jedediah  comes  right  from  Boston  town. 

And,  Job,you  peel  the  onions,  and  wash  and  fix  the  taters, 
We'll  have  them  on  the  table  in  those  shiny  painted 

waiters ; 
Put  on  your  bran  new  boots,  and  those  trowsers  with 

the  straps, 
Aunt  Sophia'll  take  a  shine  to  you  if  you  look  real 

slick  perhaps. 

Tell  Josh  to  put  the  colt  to  the  double-seated  chaise, 
Let  him  just  card  down  the  cattle,  give  them  a  little  hay, 
I'll  wear  my  nice  new  bell-crown  I  bought  of  old  Uriah, 
And  I  guess  we'll  astonish  our  Cousin  Jedediah. 


51 


I  Sailed  in  the  Good  Ship,  the  Kitty. 

I  sailed  in  the  good  ship,  the  Kitty, 

With  a  smart  blowing  gale  and  rough  sea, 
Left  my  Polly,  the  lads  call  so  pretty, 

Safe  here  at  an  anchor — Yo,  yea ! 
She  blubbered  salt  tears  when  we  parted, 

And  cried :  *'  Now  be  constant  to  me," 
I  told  her  not  to  be  down-hearted, 

So  up  went  the  anchor — Yo,  yea ! 
When  the  wind  whistled  larboard  and  starboard, 

And  the  storm  came  on  weather  and  lee, 
The  hope  I  with  her  should  be  harbored, 

Was  my  cable  and  anchor — Yo,  yea  1 
And  yet,  my  boys,  would  you  believe  me, 

I  returned  with  no  rhino  from  sea ; 
Mistress  Polly  would  never  receive  me, 

So  again  I  heaved  anchor — Yo,  yea ! 


A  Little  Farm  Well  Tilled. 

A  little  farm  well  tilled, 
A  little  cot  well  filled, 
A  little  wife  well  willed, 

Give  me,  give  me. 
A  larger  farm  well  tilled, 
A  bigger  house  wrell  filled, 
A  taller  wife  well  willed, 

Give  me,  give  me.. 
I  like  the  farm  well  tilled, 
And  I  like  the  house  well  filled 
But  no  wife  at  all 

Give  me,  give  me. 


52 


Nellie  Lost  and  Found. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Hoot  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Ten  o'clock  !  the  rain  begins  to  fall, 

And  Nellie  still  from  home ; 
Vainly  now  her  loving  name  we  call, 

Oh,  whither  does  she  roam  ? 
Can  it  he  she  wanders  from  the  street, 

Through  the  wood  to  find  her  lonely  way  ? 
Bless  the  child,  I  fear  her  little  feet 
Have  carried  her  astray. 
Chorus. — Wake  the  hoys  to  search  for  Nellie, 
Stay  not  for  the  dawn ; 
Who  shall  sleep  when  from  the  mother's  fold 
One  little  lamb  is  gone  ? 

Eleven  o'clock  !  the  little  brothers  wait, 

Still  hoping  her  return  ; 
Peeping  through  the  lattice  of  the  gate, 

Their  darling  to  discern; 
Weary  now  they  turn  them  to  the  door, 

While  their  tears,  for  lips  that  now  are  dumb 
Ask  the  question  often  asked  before, 

Oh,  mother,  will  she  come  ?  (Chorus.) 

Twelve  o'clock !  and  in  the  forest  wild, 

What  terrors  rule  the  hour ! 
Who  can  tell  what  foes  surround  the  child. 

Or  shield  her  from  their  power  ? 
Storms  to  face  and  torrents  to  be  crossed, 

Beasts  of  prey  that  in  the  darkness  roam ; 
Would  to  God  that  only  I  were  lost, 

And  Nellie  safe  at  home.  (Chorus.) 


53 


One  o'clock !  mcthinks  I  hear  a  voice, 

With  tidings  in  its  tone ! 
Does  it  bid  this  trembling  heart  rejoice, 

Or  sorrow  makes  it  known  ? 
Still  I  hear  that  midnight  echo  stirred, 
Surely,  too,  it  bears  a  joyful  sound ; 
Praise  the  Lord,  a  mother's  prayer  is  heard, 
The  darling  one  is  found ! 
Chorus. — Through  the  wood  the  midnight  echoes 
Bear  a  joyful  sound; 
Praise  the  Lord,  a  mother's  prayer  is  heard, 
The  darling  one  is  found. 


Merry,  Little,  Gray,  Fat  Man. 

There  is  a  little  man  dressed  all  in  gray, 
He  lives  in  the  city,  and  is  always  gay ; 
He's  round  as  an  apple,  and  plump  as  a  pear, 
He  has  not  a  shilling,  nor  has  he  a  care. 
Chorus. — And  he  sings  and  he  laughs,  ha  !  ha  ! 
And  he  laughs  and  he  sings ; 
Oh,  what  a  merry,  little, 
Fat,  fat,  gray  man. 

He  drinks  Without  counting  the  number  of  glasses, 
He  sings  merry  songs,  and  he  flirts  with  the  lasses ; 
He  has  debts,  he  has  duns,  but  no  bailiff  he  fears, 
He  shuts  up  his  door,  and  he  shuts  up  his  ears. 
Chorus. — Then  he  sings  and  he  laughs,  ha  I  ha  ! 
And  he  laughs  and  he  sings, 
Ob,  what  a  merry,  little, 
Fat,  fat,  gray  man. 


56 


Singular  Dreams. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  tho  copyright. 

Good  people,  I'll  not  be  detaining  you  long, 
T>cugh  I  would  relate  how  I've  suffered  a  wrong ; 
And  I  can  best  tell  it  right  here  in  a  song, 

By  taking  my  life  as  a  theme ; 
In  temper  I've  ever  been  placid  and  mild, 
And  tried  to  be  honest  and  true  from  a  child, 
Although  I'm  supposed  to  be  reckless  and  wild, 

All  because  I  have  singular  dreams. 

For  a  Sunday  school  once  I  went  into  a  church, 
Fell  asleep  when  commanded  my  Bible  to  search, 
And  dreamed  right  away  I  was  fishing  for  perch, 

On  the  bank  of  a  beautiful  stream  ; 
The  scholars  were  told  to  be  honest  and  right, 
And  never  indulge  in  a  quarrel  or  fight, 
When  I  screamed  to  Bob  Williams,  uFm  getting  a  bite!" 

Then  awoke  from  this  singular  dream. 

On  a  Quaker  I  called  in  his  cottage  one  day, 
And  there  I  found  a  wedding  in  gloomy  array, 
And  as  they  all  gave  me  a  welcome  to  stay, 

And  eat  their  strawberries  and  cream, 
I  eat,  fell  asleep,  dreamed  I  went  to  a  ball, 
Where  the  fiddler  was  mad  and  refusing  to  call, 
When  I  knocked  the  old  Quaker  right  down  in  his  hall, 

Then  awoke  from  this  singular  dream. 

One  time  I  fell  dreaming  while  kissing  my  bride 
And  dreamed  that  I  only  for  liberty  sighed, 
For  I  was  a  slave  in  an  ebony  hide, 

And  driving  a  Southerner's  team ; 


I  thought  as  I'd  often  for  liberty  bled, 
I'd  bite  off  the  shackles  with  which  I  was  led, 
But  I  bit  off  the  nose  from  my  Mary  Ann's  head, 
In  the  midst  of  this  singular  dream. 

So  now,  my  good  people,  your  pardon  I  crave, 
Don't  think  that  I  am  an  intentional  knave, 
And  if  you'll  believe  that  I  mean  to  behave, 

111  try  to  be  happy  supreme  ; 
But  lately  I  dreamed,  after  eating  hot  soups, 
That  I  was  a  lady,  with  ringlets  in  loops, 
When  arising  I  put  on  my  grandmother's  hoops, 

In  the  midst  of  this  singular  dream. 


All's  Well. 

Deserted  by  the  waning  moon, 

When  skies  proclaim  night's  cheerless  noon, 

On  tower,  fort,  or  tented  ground, 

The  sentry  walks  his  lonely  round, 

And  should  some  footstep  haply  stray, 

Where  caution  marks  the  guarded  way, 

Who  goes  there  ?      Stranger,  quickly  tell, 

A  friend.    The  word?    Good-night!    All's  well ! 

Or,  sailing  on  the  midnight  deep, 
While  weary  messmates  soundly  sleep,# 
The  careful  watch  patrols  the  deck 
To  guard  the  ship  from  foes  or  wreck ; 
And,  while  his  thoughts  oft  homeward  veer, 
Some  friendly  voice  salutes  his  ear — 
What  cheer  ?     Brother,  quickly  tell, 
Above — below.      Good-nteht !     All's  well ! 


58 


He's  Gone  to  the  Arms  of  Abraham. 

Copied   by   permission   of    Sep.    Winner,    Music   Publisher, 
933  Spring  Garden  st.,  Philadelphia,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

My  true  love  is  a  soldier 

In  the  army  now  to-day ; 
It  was  the  cruel  war  that  made  him 

Have  to  go  away ; 
The  "draft"  it  was  that  took  him, 

And  it  was  a  "  heavy  blow," 
It  took  him  for  a  conscript, 
But  he  didn't  want  to  go. 
Chorus. — He's  gone — he's  gone — 
As  meek  as  any  lamb ; 
They  took  him,  yes,  they  took  him, 
To  the  arms  of  Abraham. 

He's  gone  to  be  a  soldier, 

With  a  knapsack  on  his  back, 
A  fightin'  for  the  Union, 

And  a  livin'  on  "  hard  tack ;" 
Oh,  how  he  looked  like  Christian, 

In  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  shown, 
With  a  bundle  on  his  shoulders, 

But  with  nothin'  of  his  own.    (CHORua) 

Indeed,  to  be  a  soldier, 

It  is  so  very  hard, 
For  when  a  fellow  has  his  fun, 

They  poke  him  on  the  guard ; 
One  day  he  shot  a  rooster, 

The  Captain  thought  it  wrong ; 
And  so  to  punish  him  they  made 

Him  picket  all  night  long.        (Chorus.) 


59 


I  haven't  got  a  lover  now, 

I  haven't  got  a  beau ; 
They  took  him  as  a  raw  recruit, 

But  mustered  him,  I  know ; 
lie's  nothing  but  a  private, 

And  not  for  war  inclined, 
Although  a  hard  old  nut  to  crack 

A  Colonel  you  might  find.        (Chorus.) 

My  true  love  is  a  soldier, 

Upon  the  battle-ground, 
And  if  he  ever  should  be  lost, 

I  hope  he  may  be  found ; 
If  he  should  fall  a  fightin' 

Upon  the  battle-plain, 
I  hope  some  other  chap  may  come 

And  pick  him  up  again.  (Chorus.) 


Maid  of  Llanwellyn. 

I've  no  sheep  on  the  mountain,  nor  boat  on  the  lake, 
Nor  coin  in  my  coffer  to  keep  me  awake, 
Nor  corn  in  my  garner,  nor  fruit  on  the  tree, 
Yet  the  ifaid  of  Llanwellyn  smiles  sweetly  on  me. 

Rich  Owen  will  tell  you,  with  eyes  full  of  scorn, 
Threadbare  is  my  coat,  and  my  hosen  are  torn ; 
Scoff  on,  my  rich  Owen,  for  faint  is  thy  glee, 
While  the  Maid  of  Llanwellyn  smiles  sweetly  on  me. 

The  farmer  rides  proudly  to  market  and  fair, 
And  the  clerk  at  the  tavern  still  claims  the  great  chair, 
But,  of  all  our  proud  fellows,  the  proudest  I'll  be, 
While  the  Maid  of  Llanwellyn  smiles  sweetly  oa  me. 


so 


Song  of  a  Thousand  Years. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers-, 
95  Clark  st.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Lift  up  your  eyes,  desponding  freemen, 

Fling  to  the  winds  your  needless  fears ; 
He  who  unfurled  your  beauteous  banner, 
Says  it  shall  wave  a  thousand  years. 
Chorus. — A  thousand  years,  my  own  Columbia, 
Tis  the  glad  day  so  long  foretold ; , 
'Tis  the  glad  morn  whose  early  twilight 
Washington  saw  in  times  of  old. 

What  if  the  clouds,  one  little  moment, 
Hide  the  blue  sky  where  morn  appears, 

When  the  bright  sun,  that  tints  them  crimson, 
Rises  to  shine  a  thousand  years  ?  (Chorus.) 

Tell  the  great  world  these  blessed  tidings, 
Yes,  and  be  sure  the  bondman  hears ; 

Tell  the  oppressed  of  every  nation 

Jubilee  lasts  a  thousand  years.      (Chorus.) 

Envious  foes,  beyond  the  ocean, 

Little  we  heed  your  threatening  sneers ; 

Little  will  they — our  children's  childKn — 
When  you  are  gone  a  thousand  years.  (Chorus.) 

Rebels  at  home,  go  hide  your  faces, 

Weep  for  your  crimes  with  bitter  tears ; 

You  could  not  bind  the  blessed  daylight, 
Tho'  you  should  strive  a  thousand  years.  (Ch's.) 

Back  to  your  dens,  ye  secret  traitors, 
Down  to  your  own  degraded  spheres ; 

Ere  the  first  blaze  of  dazzling  sunshine 

Shortens  your  lives  a  thousand  years.  (Chorus.) 


61 


Haste  thee  along,  thou  glorious  noonday ; 

Oh,  for  the  eyes  of  ancient  seers ! 
Oh,  for  the  faith  of  Him  who  reckons 

Each  of  his  days  a  thousand  years.  (Chokus,) 


The  Parting  of  the  Sailor's  Wife. 

Poor  Bessy  was  a  sailor's  wife, 

And  he  was  off  to  sea, 
Their  only  child  was  by  her  side, 

And  who  so  sad  as  she ; 
"  Forget  me  not,  forget  me  not, 

When  thou  art  far  from  me, 
And  whatsoe'er  poor  Bessy's  lot, 

She  will  remember  thee." 

A  twelvemonth  scarce  had  passed  away, 

As  it  was  told  to  me, 
When  Willie  with  a  gladsome  heart, 

Came  home  again  from  sea ; 
He  bounded  up  the  craggy  path, 

And  sought  his  cottage  door, 
Bui  his  sweet  child  and  lovely  wift 

Poor  Willie  saw  no  more. 

"  Forget  me  not,  forget  me  not !" 

The  words  rung  in  his  ear, 
He  asked  the  neighbors,  one  by  one, 

The  answer  was  a  tear ; 
They  pointed  to  the  old  churchyard, 

And  there  his  youthful  bride, 
And  the  pretty  child  he  loved  so  well, 

Were  resting  side  by  side. 


62 


Isabel,  Lost  Isabel. 

Copied   by   permission    of   Sep.    Winner,    Music   Publishew, 
933  Spring  Garden  St.,  Philadelphia,  owner  of  the  copyright* 

The  sweetest  words  in  music  clothed, 

That  in  my  meru'iy  live, 
Have  not  the  charm  that  one  kind  word 

From  thy  fond  lips  could  give ; 
And  yet,  alas,  thou  didst  distrust 

The  heart  so  true  to  thee ; 
Time  yet  may  come  in  which  thou  must 

Again  remember  me, 
Isabel,  lost  Isabel. 


I  love  the  scenes  where  we  have  strayed, 

Thy  songs  still  haunt  me  yet ; 
Thy  gifts  I  prize,  thy  words,  thy  smiles, 

I  never  can  forget ; 
Farewell,  farewell,  since  thou  art  gone, 

Sad  is  my  lone  decree ; 
But  days  may  come  in  which  thou  must 

Again  remember  me, 
Isabel,  lost  Isabel. 

My  thoughts  still  follow  after  thee, 

And  wander  here  and  there, 
Like  thistle-down  in  autumn  days 

Upon  the  chilly  air ; 
Since  thou  art  gone,  fair  Isabel, 

Whate'er  thy  dreams  may  be, 
Are  there  not  hours  in  which  again 

Thou  must  remember  me  ? 
Isabel,  lost  Isabel, 


S3 


Jenny  Brown  and  I. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publiiher*, 
05  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

'Twas  in  the  early  spring-time, 

When  the  doves  begin  to  coo, 
I  walked  across  the  valley, 

Sweet  Jenny  Brown  to  woo ; 
My  path  lay  through  the  orchard, 

Whose  sweetness  filled  the  air, 
And  ere  I  half  had  passed  it, 

I  met  sweet  Jenny  there. 
Chorus. — Ah,  yes,  'twas  in  the  spring-time, 
When  the  doves  begin  to  coo, 

I  walked  across  the  valley, 
Sweet  Jenny  Brown  to  woo. 
The  apple  boughs  were  laden, 

With  blossoms  budding  low, 
And  the  withered  leaves  were  falling, 

Like  flakes  of  scented  snow  ; 
I  told  my  love  to  Jenny, 

I  scarce  remember  how, 
But  she  seemed  to  understand  me, 

As  she  heard  my  trembling  vow.  (Chorus.) 
And  she  smiled  a  little  archly, 

As  she  took  a  ribbon  blue, 
And  bent  a  twig  down  gently, 

And  bound  it  firm  and  true ; 
And  she  said :  "  When  on  this  branchlet, 

With  ribbon  I  have  tied, 
Hangs  an  apple  ripe  and  rosy, 

Jenny  Brown  will  be  your  bride."  (Chorus.) 
And  through  the  long  glad  summer, 

We  watched  that  token  true, 


64 


As  it  brightened  in  the  sunshine, 

Or  glistened  in  the  dew  ; 
And  of  all  the  lads  and  lasses 

That  saw  it,  passing  by, 
Not  one  could  read  its  promise 

But  Jenny  Brown  and  L  (Chorus.) 

At  length  the  happy  autumn 

Came  smiling  o'er  the  land, 
Its  golden  treasures  flinging 

With  free  and  bounteous  hand ; 
And  when  with  rip'ning  fruitage, 

The  apple  boughs  were  red, 
I  walked  across  the  valley, 
Sweet  Jenny  Brown  to  wed. 
Chorus. — Ah,  yes,  'twas  in  the  autumn, 

When  the  apple  boughs  were  red. 
I  walked  across  the  valley, 
Sweet  Jenny  Brown  to  wed. 


The  Farmer's  Daughter. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid  ?* 
"  I'm  going  a  milking,  sir,"  she  said ; 
"  May  I  go  with  you,  my  pretty  maid  ?" 
"It's  just  as  you  please,  kind  sir,"  she  said. 

"  What  is  your  father,  my  pretty  maid  ?" 
"  My  father's  a  farmer,  sir,"  she  said ; 
"  Then  I  will  marry  you,  my  pretty  maid ;" 
11  It's  not  as  you  please,  kind  sir,"  she  said. 

"  What  is  your  fortune,  my  pretty  maid  ?'r 
•c  My  face  is  my  fortune,  sir,"  she  said ; 
"  Then  I  can't  marry  you,  my  pretty  maid ;" 
u  Nobody  asked  you,  sir,"  she  said. 


BE^JDLE'ftS 


Song  Book 

No.  13. 


A   COLLECTION   OT  NEW   AND    P0PT7LA* 

COM  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


NEW  YORK : 
BEADLE  AND  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 

118  WILLIAM  STREET. 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE. 

The  music,  with  pianoforte  arrangement,  of  any  of  the 
songs  in  Beadle's  Dime  Soxg  Books,  can  be  obtained  of,  or 
ordered  through,  any  regular  News  or  Periodical  dealer ;  or 
by  forwarding  twenty-five  cents,  direct  to  the  ^publishers, 
whose  names  and  address  are  attached  to  many  of  the  piece*, 
the  music  will  be  sent  by  mail,  post-paid. 

Beadle  axd  Company. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864, 

By  BEADLE  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 

for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


(S.  B.  13.) 


CONTENTS  No.  13. 


A  song  for  the  times, 63 

A  life  by  de  galley  lire, 14 

An  old  man  would  be  wooing,        -        -        -        -  55 

Barney  O'Hea,    -        -        - w     -        -        -        ,  50 

Beautiful  dreamer, -  10 

Be  sure  you  call,  as  you  pass  by,  25 
Bonnie  breast-knots,        -        -"                -        -        -33 

Christ  will  care  for  mother  now,  18 

Clara  Kane, -                -        -  5 

Close  his  eyes,  his  work  is  done,  36 

Come  in  and  shut  the  door, 31 

Cuffee's  war  song,        -        -  '     -        -        -        .  43 

Finignn's  Wake,"     - 6 

High  times,  good  times,       -----  27 

I  dream  of  my  mother  and  my  home,     -        -        -  30 

I'd  dream  forevermore, 57 

If  you've  only  got  a  mustache,       -        -        -        -  40 

I  know  a  pretty  widow,  58 

I'll  be  home  to-morrow, 44 

I  watch  for  thee  in  starless  night,        ...  44 

I'll  wait  for  thee  at  the  gate, 10 

In  this  beautiful  land  of'my  dreams,  -        -        -  7 

Jonathan  wants  a  wife, 43 

Katy  did,  Katy  didn't, 8 

Kindly  words'and  smiling  faces,     -        -        -        -  16 

Kiss  me  as  of  old,  mother, 47 

Kiss  me  once  more,  mother,  -        -        -        -        -  26 

Lay  me  to  rest,  dear  mother,  45 

Life  on  the  Canawl,         -         -----        -  29 

Merry  little  birds  are  we,     -        -        *        -        -  9 

Molly  dear,  good-niii;ht,  -        -        -                 ^       -  64 

"Mother,  will  our  Charley  come?'*  53 

My  wife  is  a  most  knowing  woman,       -        -        -  60 

Oh,  I  should  like  to  marry,          ...        -  23 


iy  CONTENTS    NO.    13. 


PA  (SB. 

Oh,  why  am  I  so  happy  ? 56 

One  flag  or  no  flag,      -        ....     -        -        .  17 

One  single  kiss,       -        -        -        •        *  •  .  • '       -36 

Our  Willie  dear  is  dying,    -        •        -       v  54 

Sam  Slick,  the  Yankee  peddler,     *        •        -        -  46 

She  was  all  the  world  to  me,       •  :•"   -        -        -  24 

Sunshine  and  cloud,-       —       —  ';-•-  :  -        -        -        -  21 

Sweet  Evelina,     -        -        -        -        -  51 
Tell  me,  mother,  can  I  go?*        -        -        --32 

Those  evening  bells,    -        •        -        ....,-  41 

Thy  mother  will  rock  thee  to  sleep,       -        •        -  38 

Tony  Pastor's  combination  song,  34 

There's  no  such  girl  as  mine,  -        -        -        -        -  15 

There  are  plenty  of  fish  in  the  sea,     -        -        -  22 

The  blind  boy,        -      -        -        -':•.-        -        -  61 

The  child  of  the  regiment,  -        -        «        -        -  •  13 

The  evacuation,       -        -        «        •        •  -•    •        -  20 

The  merry,  merry  vintage  maid,         •      .  -*       »  19 

The  scientific  frog,  -        -        -  -       -        $    -'■*/      •  49 

The  village  maiden,      -      .  ^  •     *     .,-   ■,-•.-*     ,  39 

The  white  cockade,      *-      ;  -  v- ^    '     *  .     -        -  55 

Weep  no  more  for  Lily,       -   ;.r  -        »    /  •        -  37 

Weep,  Pompeyf weep,     -,.-•**      -    ■  '-  •  *>  52 

We'll  fight  for  uncle  Abe,  r*       *■■  ■    -.   :.  •        -  59 
We'll  have  a  little  dance  J,o-night,J  *  :  >,  •  ;.-'  >        -62 

When  this  dreadful  war  is  ended,    .;.  •  '<ik  M    —  •  12 

Willie  has  gone  to  the  war,    -       .  •  'r  ;•.*•- './•  L:    -  42 

Your  fortune  is  too  small  for  me,  <;?■'•   -  •  -   •  ■'.•■  28 

Zekel  and  Hulda,  „-  •     --^-  — **„ *<--•  ***  •        -  11 


BEADLE'S 

DIME  SONG  BOOK  No.  13. 

Clara  Kane. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Sow,  Music  Publisher!, 
643  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  knew  a  nook  by  the  river's  brink, 

Where  the  sunlight  loved  to  stray, 
And  the  waters  laughed  as  they  hurried  on, 

To  their  rest  in  the  quiet  bay. 
'Twas  there  I  spent  such  happy  hours 

As  ne'er  will  come  again, 
And  there  my  timid  heart  confessed 
It's  love  for  Clara  Kane, 
Choxus — But  now  the  sun  shines  cheerless  there, 
The  river  laughs  no  more, 
For  darling  Clara  sleeps  in  death, 
Upon  its  leafy  shore. 

One  summer's  eve  she  whispered  low, 

"  Oh  !  draw  the  curtains  by, 
And  let  me  see  our  cherished  bower, 

Again  before  I  die  !" 
And  then  her  gentle  spirit  fled, 

Forever  free  from  pain  ; 
But  still  I  love  that  river  nook, 
For  the  sake  of  Clara  Kane. 
Choiius — And  though  in  mournful  silence  bound, 
The  river  laughs  no  more, 
1  sit  and  weep  by  Clara's  grave, 
Upon  it's  leafy  shore. 


Finigan's  Wake. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pokd  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owuers  of  the  copyright. 

Tim  Finigan  lived  in  Walker  Street, 

A  gentleman  Irishman — mighty  odd — 
He'd  a  beautiful  brogue,  so  rich  and  sweet, 

And  to  rise  in  the  world  he  carried  a  hod ; 
But  you  see  he'd  a  sort  of  a  tippling  way : 

With  a  love  for  the  liquor  poor  Tim  was  born, 

And  to  help  him  through  his  work  each  day, 

He'd  a  drop  of  the  creatur'  every  morn. 

Cnonufr— Whack,  hurrah,  dance  to  you  partiners, 

Welt  the  flure,  ye're  trotters  shake, 

Isn't  it  the  truth  I've  tould  ye, 

Lots  of  fan  at  Finigan's  wake. 

One  morning  Tim  was  rather  full, 

His  head  felt  heavy,  which  made  him  shake, 
He  fell  from  the  ladder  and  broke  his  skull ; 

So  they  carried  him  home  his  corpse  to  wake  : 
They  rolled  him  up  in  a  nice  clean  sheet,  . 

And  laid  him  out  upon  the  bed, 
With  fourteen  candles  round  his  feet, 

And  a  barrel  of  paratees  around  his  head. 

His  friends  assembled  at  his  wake 

Missus  Finigan  called  out  for  the  lunch : 
First  they  laid  in  tay  and  cake, 

Then  pipes  and  tobacky  and  whisky  punch. 
Miss  Biddy  O'Brien  began  to  cry  : 

Such  a  purty  corpse  did  ever  you  see  ? 
Arrah !  Tim  avourneen,  an'  why  did  ye  die  ? 

Och,  none  of  your  gab,  sez  Judy  Magee. 


Then  Peggy  O'Connor  took  up  the  job, 

Arrah,  Biddy,  says  she,  ye're  -wrong  I'm  shurc  ; 
But  Judy  then  gave  her  a  belt  on  the  gob, 

I  left  her  sprawling  on  the  flure. 
Each  side  in  war  did  soon  engage  : 

'Twas  woman  to  woman  and  man  to  man ; 
Shillelah  law  was  all  the  rage, 

And  a  rousinsr  ruction  soon  began. 


In  this  Beautiful  Land  of  My  Dreams. 

A  REPLY  TO  "  HAPPY  BE  THY  DREAMS." 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Son,  Music  Publishers, 
543  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I've  passed  from  sorrow  and  strife 

To  a  sunlit  isle  of  love, 
And  my  dreams  are  happy  and  light 

In  this  beautiful  land  above. 
My  mother's  long  watch  is  o'er, 

And  my  days  glide  by  like  the  streams ; 
And  the  song  birds,  I  hear  them  no  more, 

In  this  beautiful  land  of  my  dreams, 
CnoBUfl — I've  passed  from  sorrow  and  strife,  etc. 

Tve  waited  not  long  or  in  vain, 

In  this  land  of  celestial  delight, 
To  greet  my  dear  mother  with  love, 

And  bless  her  with  heavenly  light. 
The  angels  her  coming  welcomed, 

And  o'er  her  flung  soft,  silver  beams ; 
And  bade  her  be  joyous  and  free, 

In  this  beautiful  land  of  my  dreams. 
CnoBUs — I've  waited  not  long  or  in  vain,  etc. 


Katy  did,  Katy  didn't. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
4S1  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Katy  had  an  ancient  lover, 

Oh,  his  head  was  white  as  snow ; 
He  was  worth  a  mint  of  money, 

Katy  didn't  love  him  though. 
Chorus — Katy  did,  Katy  didn't, 

Katy  did,  Katy  didn't, 

Katy  did,  Katy  didn't, 

Katy  didn't,  she  didn't,  I  know.  * 

Katy  didn't,  but  Katy's  father, 

Katy's  father  did  and  would, 
Love  the  old  man  and  his  money, 

And  he  vowed  that  Katy  should.  (Chorus.) 
Katy  wrung  her  hands  and  cried,  sir, 

And  before  her  father  knelt ; 
I  couldn't  begin  to  tell  you, 

If  I  tried,  how  bad  she  felt.      (Chorus.) 
Katy  knew  a  younger  man,  sir, 

With  the  blackest  eyes  and  hair, 
Whether  he'd  got  any  money, 

Katy  didn't  know  or  care.        (Chorus.) 
This  young  man  was  fond  of  Katy, 

As  the  little  sly  rogue  knew, 
And  she  forthwith  went  and  asked  him 

What  he  thought  she'd  better  do.  (Chorus.) 
This  young  man  was  not  a  fool,  sir, 

And  he  loved  the  little  elf, 
So  what  do  you  think  he  did,  sir  ? 

Why,  he  married  her  himsell 
Chorus — Katy  didn't,  Katy  didn't,  etc. 

Katy  did,  Katy  did,  I  know. 


Merry  Little  Birds  are  we. 

Copied  by  permission  of  IIorace  Water?.  Mnsic  Publisher, 
4S1  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

The  summer's  coming  on, 

And  we  warble  in  the  tree ; 
The  wintry  blasts  have  gone, 

Oh,  what  merry  birds  are  we  ; 
So  now  we  chirp  and  sing, 

For  the  sunlight  makes  us  glad, 
We've  waited  for  the  spring, 

Till  our  hearts  were  sick  and  sad. 
Chorus — Merry  little  birds  are  we, 

Twit,  twit,  twee,  twit,  twit,  twee, 

Merry  little  birds  are  we, 

For  the  summer  days  are  coming. 

The  daisy  lifts  its  head 

To  the  bright  and  cheering  sky, 
The  snowy  flakes  have  fled, 

Aaid  the  chilling  winds  gone  by; 
The  roses  soon  will  bloom, 

And  the  wild  flowers  deck  the  glen ; 
The  butterflies  will  roam, 

Oh,  well  all  be  happy  then.     (Chorus.) 

We  greet  the  morning  beams 

With  a  welcome  to  the  May ; 
We  carol  to  the  streams 

When  we  wake  at  break  of  day  ; 
The  birds  are  on  the  bough, 

And  the  verdure  on  the  plain, 
We'll  all  be  happy  now, 

For  the  spring  has  come  again.  (Chorus.) 


10 


Beautiful  Dreamer.* 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Mnsic  Pnblisheri, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Beautiful  dreamer,  wake  unto  me, 

Starlight  and  dew-drops  are  waiting  for  thee  ; 
Sounds  of  the  rude  world  heard  in  the  day, 

Lulled  by  the  moonlight  have  all  passed  away  t 
Beautiful  dreamer,  queen  of  my  song, 

List  while  I  woo  thee  with  soft  melody ; 
Gone  are  the  cares  of  life's  busy  throng, 

Beautiful  dreamer,  awake  unto  me  ! 

Beautiful  dreamer,  out  on  the  sea 

Mermaids  are  chanting  the  wild  lorelie ; 
Over  the  streamlet  vapors  are  borne, 

Waiting  to  fade  at  the  bright  coming  morn. 
Beautiful  dreamer,  beam  on  my  heart, 

E'en  as  the  morn  on  the  streamlet  and  sea ; 
Then  will  all  clouds  of  sorrow  depart, 

Beautiful  dreamer,  awake  unto  me  ! 


Til  Wait  at  the  Gate  for  Thee. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Mnsic  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Farewell,  farewell,  my  darling  wife, 

Farewell,  my  mother  dear ! 
Father,  mine  was  a  happy  life, 

Made  so  by  kindred  dear, 
But  now  the  angels  call  me  home, 

From  toil  and  care  to  be  free, 
Trust  on,  loved  wife,  tho'  now  alone, 

I'll  wait  at  the  gate  for  thee. 

*  The  last  Song  ever  written    by  Stephen  C.  Fostir,  a  few 
days  previons  to  his  death. 


I 


L 


11 

Tell  sisters  all  how  deep  I  loved, 

My  younger  brothers  too, 
But  darling  wife,  more  dear  than  all, 

Tm  thinking  now  of  you ; 
Ilush  !  don't  you  hear  sweet  voices  call  ? 

To  heaven  I  go  from  thee, 
Trust  on,  dear  wife,  they  still  do  call, 

Til  wait  at  the  gate  for  thee. 


Zekel  and  Hulda. 

Zekel  crept  up  quite  unbeknown, 

And  peeked  in  through  the  winder, 
And  there  sat  Hulda,  all  alone, 

With  no  one  nigh  to  hinder. 
Upon  the  chimbly  crook-necks  hung, 

And  in  amongst  them  rusted, 
The  old  Queens  arm  that  grand'ther  Ytiin^ 

Brought  back  from  Concord,  busted. 
The  walnut  wood  shot  sparkles  out, 

Toward  the  putyest,  (bless  her,) 
And  little  fires  danced  all  about 

The  china  on  the  dresser. 
The  very  room,  'cause  she  was  in, 

Looked  warm  from  floor  to  ceilin', 
And  she  looked  full  as  rosy  agin, 

As  the  apples  she  was  pealin'. 
She  heard  a  foot,  and  knowed  it  too, 

A  raspin'  on  the  scraper, 
All  ways  to  once  her  feelings  flew, 

Like  sparks  on  burnt  up  paptir. 
He  kinder  loitered  on  the  mat, 

Some  doubtful  of  the  signal, 
His  heart  kept  going  pity-pat, 

But  her's  went  yhy-Zekd. 


12 


When  this  Dreadful  War  is  Ended, 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
4S1  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

When  this  dreadful  war  is  ended, 

I  will  come  again  to  you ; 
Tell  me  dearest,  ere  we  sever, 

Tell  me,  tell  me  you'll  be  true ; 
Though  to  other  scenes  I  wander, 

Still  your  memory,  pure  and  bright, 
In  my  heart  will  ever  linger, 

Shining  with  undying  light ; 
Do  not  weep,  love,  sit  beside  me, 

Whisper  gentle  words  of  cheer, 
Be  not  mournful  now,  my  darling, 

Let  me  kiss  away  each  tear. 
Chorus — How  happy  I  will  feel  if  I  but  know, 
That  you'll  contented  be ; 

PR  never,  never  have  one  pang  of  woe, 
While  you  are  true  to  me. 

On  the  gory  field  of  battle 

Your  sweet  voice  will  nerve  my  hand, 
And  when  weary,  sad  or  wounded, 

Your  fair  image  near  me  stand ; 
In  my  visions,  like  some  angel, 

You  will  turn  my  grief  to  bliss ; 
On  my  pale  and  fevered  forehead 

I  will  often  feel  your  kiss ; 
Our  dear  native  land's  in  danger, 

And  we'll  calmly  bide  the  time, 
Till  this  dreadful  war  is  over, 

And  the  bells  of  peace  shall  chime.  (Chorus.) 


13 


When  this  dreadful  war  is  ended, 

Soon  I  hope  the  day  will  come, 
Love's  own  star  will  lead  my  footsteps 

Safely  back  to  you  and  home  ; 
Oh,  what  joy  again  to  meet  you,     yr 

"When  the  threat'ning  storm  is  past, 
Aud  the  flag  our  foes  have  planted -ir 

Flies  in  shreds  upon  the  blast ; 
Farewell,  farewell,  best  and  dearest, 

Do  not  let  your  heart  repine, 
Though  the  sky  may  now  look  gloomy, 

Soon  the  sun  will  brightly  shine.  (Chokus.) 


The  Child  of  the  Eegiment 

Ask  me  not  why  my  heart  with  fond  emotion 

Beats  for  the  brave  companions  of  my  youth  ; 
Had  they  not  tended  me  with  love's  devotion, 

I  had  not  lived,  alas,  to  prove  my  truth ; 
A  helpless  babe  upon  the  field  I  lay, 
And  but  for  them  my  life  had  passed  away ; 
Ere  I  forget,  then,  all  their  loving  kindness, 

Bring  o'er  my  heart  oblivion  of  the  past ; 
But  when  you  win  for  me  that  fatal  blindness, 

In  mercy  let  that  moment  be  my  last. 

Chide  me  no  more,  were  I  devoid  of  feeling, 

Would  my  ingratitude  not  wake  thy  fears  ? 
Worthless  would  be  this  moment's  fond  revealing, 
If  I  could  cast  aside  the  ties  of  long,  long  }-ears ; 
Thou  hast  my  love,  thine  i3  a  mother's  claim, 
To  them  forget  not  that  thou  ow'st  the  name ; 
Ere  I  can  cease  to  think  of  all  their  kindness, 
Bring  o'er  my  heart,  etc. 


14 

A  Life  by  de  Galley  Fire. 

A  life  by  de  galley  fire, 

Where  de  coppers  am  boiling  wild, 
Who  would  not  dis  life  admire, 

Exactly  suits  dis  child ; 
When  into  de  galley  I  set, 

De  good  segars  I  smokes, 
Bar's  many  a  kulored  gal, 
In  lub  wid  dis  ole  cook, 
Chortts — A  life  by  de  galley  fire, 

Where  de  coppers  am  boiling  wild| 
Who  would  not  dis  life  admire, 

Exactly  suits  dis  child ; 
It  suits,  it  suits,  it  suits,  it  suits, 
Exactly  suits  dis  child. 

When  in  de  caboose  I  go, 

De  turkeys  and  gobblers  look, 
For  den  dey  all  know  full  well 

Dat  I  am  de  slaughter  cook ; 
De  turkeys  look, 

De  gobblers  wink  dar  eye, 
For  den  dey  know  full  well, 

Dat  one  ob  de  flock  must  die,  (Chosus.) 

Aa  through  de  streets  I  strut, 

Like  a  fish  widout  a  fin, 
Oh,  give  me  de  ole  caboose, 

Where  I  can  lay  back  and  grin ; 
And  when  de  Captain's  done, 

De  basket  I  controls, 
And  de  vittles  I  gerve  out, 

To  de  poor  and  hungry  souls,  (Chorus.) 


15 


There's  no  such  Girl  as  Mine. 

Copied  by  permission  of  IIoracts   vVjlter*,  Mnsic  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  there's  no  such  girl  as  mine, 
In  all  this  wide  world  round, 
With  her  hair  of  gold  so  fine, 

And  her  voice  of  silver  sound  ; 
Her  eyes  are  as  black  as  the  sloe, 

Her  lips  in  a  smile  combine, 
Her  breath  is  as  pure  as  the  snow, 
There's  no  such  girl  as  mine. 
Chorus — Oh,  there's  no  such  girl  as  mine, 
In  all  this  wide  world  round, 
With  her  hair  of  gold  so  fine, 
And  her  voice  of  silver  sound. 

Oft  her  soul  in  sweetness  flows, 

She's  gainer  of  all  hearts  ; 
There's  a  smile  where'er  she  goes, 

And  a  sigh  when  she  departs ; 
She's  loved  by  the  rich  and  the  poor, 

She  is  free  from  all  dark  design, 
She's  welcome  at  every  door, 

There's  no  such  girl  as  mine.    (Chorus.) 

She  is  light  to  the  banquet  ball, 

She's  balm  to  the  couch  of  care, 
When  around  us  troubles  fall, 

She  calmly  takes  her  share ; 
At  home  or  when  far  away, 

Her  virtues  will  ever  shine, 
Her  heart  is  as  open  as  day, 

There's  no  such  girl  as  mine.    (Chorus.) 


16 


Kindly  Words  and  Smiling  Faces. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Mnsic  Publisher, 
431  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Though  our  way  is  dark  and  dreary, 

And  we  toil  from  day  to  day, 
While  the  heart  is  sad  and  weary, 
At  our  home  there  shines  a  ray ; 
Kindly  words  and  smiling  faces, 

Gentle  yoices  as  of  yore, 
Loving  kisses  and  embraces, 
Ever  wait  us  at  the  door. 
Chorus — Kindly  words  and  smiling  faces, 
Gentle  voices  as  of  yore, 
Loving  kisses  and  embraces, 
Ever  meet  us  at  the  door. 

Here  we  tuna  when  all  forsake  us — 

Here  we  never  look  in  vain, 
For  the  soothing  tones  that  wake  us 

Back  to  joy  and  peace  again ; 
Kindly  words  and  smiling  faces, 

Gentle  voices  as  of  yore, 
Loving  kisses  and  embraces 

Ever  wait  us  at  the  door.  (Ciiobus.) 

Though  we  err,  yet  in  our  sadness, 

Here's  a  shelter  from  the  storm, 
Just  as  in  our  days  of  gladness, 

Here  the  hearts  are  true  and  warm ; 
Kindly  words  and  smiling  faces, 

Gentle  voices  as  of  yore, 
Loving  kisses  and  embraces 

Ever  wait  us  at  the  door.  (Chortts.) 


17 


One  Flag  or  no  Flag. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Sox,  Music  Publishers, 
543  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  still  let  us  strive  for  the  Union  of  yore, 
Shoulder  to  shoulder  as  ever  before, 
Together  in  hand,  together  in  heart, 
Together,  together,  for  why  should  we  part  ? 
As  one  we  have  risen,  as  one  we  must  fall, 
So  one  flag  or  no  flag  shall  float  over  all. 

CHORUS. 

One  flag  or  no  flag,  one  flag  or  no  flag,  . 
So  one  flag  or  no  flag  shall  float  over  all ; 
So  one  flag  or  no  flag  shall  float  over  all. 

For  better  or  worse  we  have  plighted  our  troth, 
And  ruins  of  Union  must  cover  us  both  ; 
Then  living  or  dead  we  are  joined  in  your  fate, 
Spite  of  your  bloodshed  and  spite  of  your  hate ; 
As  one  we  have  risen,  as  one  we  must  fall, 
So  one  flag  or  no  flag  shall  float  over  all. 

Though  years  are  before  us  of  toil  and  of  pain, 
Let's  bur}-  the  past  and  join  hands  once  again ; 
Our  heart  shall  not  fail  us,  or  slacken  our  hand, 
Till  all  shout  for  Union  throughout  this  broad  land  ; 
As  one  we  have  risen,  as  one  we  must  fall, 
So  one  flag  or  no  flag  shall  float  over  all. 

Then  still  let  us  cling  to  our  Union  of  old, 
'Tis  better  than  life,  ay,  'tis  better  than  gold, 
For  what  is  of  value  to  you  or  to  me, 
If  stars  should  be  torn  from  the  flag  of  the  free  ; 
As  one  we  have  risen,  as  one  we  must  fall, 
So  one  flag  or  no  flag  shall  float  over  all. 


18 


Christ  will  Care  for  Mother  now. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  "Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright.  ] 

Death  has  crept  upon  your  pathway, 

Hope  of  life  has  almost  gone, 
Yet,  my  comrade,  in  your  anguish 

There's  a  Friend  excelled  by  none ; 
He  that  is  the  God  of  battle, 

Looks  upon  your  anxious  brow, 
He  will  comfort  her  in  sorrow, 
He  will  care  for  mother  now. 
Chorus-— Soon  with  angels  you'll  be  marching, 
With  a  crown  upon  your  brow, 
Free  from  care  and  toil  and  danger, 
Christ  will  care  for  mother  now. 

Do  not  grieve  for  her,  my  brother, 

Though  the  ties  that  bind  are  sweet, 
Look  to  Jesus,  He  has  promised 

That  in  heaven  we  all  may  meet ; 
For  your  country's  weal  j-ou've  battled, 

To  your  friends  you  e'er  were  dear, 
War's  tierce  din  has  raged  around  you, 

Ne'er  grim  death  to  make  you  fear. 

Let  this  cheer  you  while  you're  dying, 

That  you've  done  your  duty  here, 
Christ  has  promised  to  reward  you, 

And  you'll  meet  your  mother  there ; 
Good-by,  comrade,  God  be  with  you, 

We  mast  leave  you,  so  farewell, 
And  in  heaven  well  hope  a  meeting, 

Ne'er  to  hear  a  parting  knelL 


19 


Ah,  his  pulse  lias  ceased  its  beating, 

Soon  the  spark  of  life  has  fled ; 
Kineteen  years  of  earthly  trials, 

Now  one  of  the  soldier  dead  ; 
Rest  from  cares  of  home  or  battle, 

Mother,  sister,  country,  friend, 
Till  our  last,  our  heavenly  greeting, 

"Where  before  God's  throne  we'll  bend. 


The  Merry,  Merry  Vintage  Maid. 

Oh,  the  merry,  merry  vintage  maid, 
On  the  old  gray  mountain's  side, 
She  sings  all  day,  in  the  vineyard  shade, 

Till  the  golden  eventide ; 
Oh,  many,  many  a  student  one, 

Half  envies,  passing  by, 
The  silken  vine-leaves  in  the  sun, 
That  fan  her  cheek  and  sigh. 
Chorus — Oh,  the  merry,  merry  vintage  maid, 

As  she  sings  the  Rhine-land  rhyme ; 
"Who  would  not  linger  in  the  shade 
*  With  her,  at  vintage  time  ? 

Of  the  merry,  merry  vintage  maid, 

The  student  sits  and  dreams, 
Where  the  ruin  crowns  the  vineyard  shade, 

And  far  below  Rhine  beams ; 
Oh,  long  the  dream  will  bring, 

To  future  hours  the  rhyme, 
He  heard  the  merry  maiden  sing 

In  purple  vintage  time.  (Chorus.) 


20 


The  Evacuation. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Simon  Greenhorn  went  to  town, 

A  looking  fine  and  gay,  sirs ; 
Of  New  York  city,  that  great  renown, 

I'd  often  heard  folks  say,  sirs ; 
My  daddy's  leave  I  got  'tis  true, 

My  mammy's  approbation, 
So  I  went  down  to  New  York  town. 

To  see  the  evacuation* 
Ri  tu,  ri  tu,  ri  tu,  ri  a, 

Ri  tu,  ri  tu,  ri  tu,  ro  li  do, 
Ri  tu,  ri  tu,  ri  tu,  ri  tu, 

And  Yankee  Doodleation. 

When  in  the  city  I  first  arrived, 

I  felt  myself  quite  flustered, 
To  see  all  round  that  great  big  town 

So  many  people  mustered ; 
But,  howsomever,  in  a  crowd 

I  got  myself  a  station, 
And  then  awaited  patiently 

To  see  the  Evacuation. 
Ri  tu,  etc.     Hurrah,  for  this  great  nation/ 

At  length  a  soldier's  scampering  horse 

Got  frightened  at  a  dandy ; 
He  pelted  in  among  the  crowd 

Quite  frolicsome  and  handy ; 
He  tilted  me  slap  off  my  soles, 

I  popped  on  an  elevation, 
And  got  a  seat  for  nothing  at  all, 

To  see  the  Evacuation. 
Ri  tu,  etc.     Oh,  what  a  happy  station. 


21 


I  sat  myself  down  quietly, 

Nobody  seemed  to  rout  me ; 
I  gently  cast  my  eyes  upon 

The  ladies  round  about  me ; 
They  all  did  look  quite  weary  worn, 

And  in  a  perspiration ; 
It  melted  all  the  red  and  white, 

On  this  famous  Evacuation. 
Hi  tu,  etc.     Ever  of  them. 

"  Now  thinks/'  says  I,  unto  myself, 

11  I've  seen  all  that  I  can  see  ;'1 
But  to  find  out  my  great  mistake, 

1  paid  dearly  for  my  fancy — * 
Ten  dollars  and  my  pocket-book, 

Upon  examination ; 
My  watch,  that  never  went  before, 

Went  on  Evacuation. 
Ri  tu,  etc     Td  like  a  police  station. 


Sunshine  and  Cloud. 

Sunshine  and  cloud,  love,  still  there  must  be ; 
Then,  if  for  others,  why  not  for  me  ? 
Bid  me  be  happy  oft  as  you  may, 
Thoughts  will,  unbidden,  darken  life's  ray. 
Chorus — Still,  when  'tis  darkest  light  can  I  see ; 
Thou  art  the  sunshine  beaming  for  me. 

Sunshine  and  cloud,  love,  pleasure  and  care, 
Others  must  bow  to,  I,  too,  must  share ; 
Thankful  that  o'er  me  Heav'n  has  allowed 
Sunshine  to  mingle  where  there's  a  cloud. 


23 


There  are  Plenty  of  Fish  in  the  Sea. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

A  lady  tossed  her  curls 

At  all  who  came  to  woo ; 
She  laughed  to  scorn  the  vows, 

From  hearts  though  false  or  true 
While  merrily  she  sung, 

And  cared  all  day  for  naught ; 
There  are  plenty  of  fish  in  the  sea, 

As  good  as  ever  were  caught 
There  are  plenty  of  fish  in  the  sea, 

As  good  as  ever  wws  caught. 


Upon  their  lightning  wings 

The  merry  years  did  glide, 
A  careless  life  she  led, 

And  was  not  yet  a  bride ; 
Still  as  of  old  she  sang 

Though  few  to  win  her  sought ; 
There  are  plenty  of  fish  in  the  sea, 

As  good  as  ever  were  caught. 

At  length  the  lady  grew 

Exceedingly  alarmed, 
For  beaux  had  grown  quite  shy, 

Her  face  no  longer  charmed ; 
And  now  she  madly  sings 

The  lesson  time  has  taught : 
There  are  plenty  of  fish  in  the  sea, 

But,  oh,  they're  hard  to  be  caught 


23- 


Oh,  I  should  Like  to  Many. 

Oh,  I  should  like  to  marry, 

If  that  I  could  find 
Any  handsome  fellow 

Suited  to  my  mind ; 
Oh,  I  should  like  him  dashing, 

Oh,  I  should  like  him  gay ; 
The  leader  of  the  fashion, 

And  dandy  of  the  day. 
Oh,  I  should  like  his  hair 

As  Truefit's  "wigs,  divine ; 
The  sort  of  thing  each  fair 

Would  envy  being  mine  ; 
He  mustn't  be  too  short, 

He  mustn't  be  too  burly ; 
But  slim,  and  tall,  and  straight, 

Mustache  and  whiskers  curly. 
His  cab,  too,  he  must  drive, 

With  a  tiny  tiger  dear ; 
And  a  phaeton,  and  a  Brougham, 

And  ten  thousand  poimds  a  year ; 
He  mustn't  wish  to  have 

All  things  just  his  own  way ; 
He  must  mope  when  I  am  grave, 

And  be  gay  when  I  am  gay. 
I'm  sure  he'll  never  gnimble, 

But  live  a  life  of  ease, 
That  is,  on  one  condition — 

I'm  to  do  whate'er  I  please ; 
Now  isn't  this  good-natured  ? 

And  don't  you  all  agree 
This  little  tiny  privilege 

Is  not  too  much  for  me  ? 


24 


She  was  all  the  World  to  Me. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

In  the  sad  and  mournful  autumn, 

With  the  falling  of  the  leaf, 
Death,  the  reaper,  claimed  our  loved  one, 

As  the  husbandman  the  sheaf; 
Cold  and  dark  the  day  we  laid  her 

'Neath  the  sighing  cypress  tree, 
For  though  nothing  to  another, 

She  was  all  the  world  to  me. 

In  the  month  of  song  and  blossom, 

In  the  month  when  tender  flowers 
Spring  from  earth's  maternal  bosom, 

Waked  to  life  by  gentle  showers, 
As  I  wandered  close  beside  her, 

'Neath  the  spreading  greenwood  tree, 
"  Fair,"  I  said,  "  and  radiant  maiden, 

You  are  all  the  world  to  me." 

Then  the  rare  and  bright-eyed  maiden 

In  the  month  of  song  and  flowers, 
Rose-lipped  and  beauty  laden, 

Curtained  by  the  twilight  hours, 
Gave  her  hand  into  my  keeping 

'Neath  the  spreading  greenwood  tree, 
u  And,"  she  said,  with  eyelids  drooping, 

w  You  are  all  the  world  to  me." 

But  there  hovered  near  a  spirit 
Darker  than  the  bird  of  night, 

And  it  touchel  her  drooping  eyelids, 
Covered  up  her  eyes  of  light ; 


25 

Then  with  care  fill  hands  >vc  laid  her 
'Neath  the  sighing  cypress  tree, 

And  my  heart  with  her  is  buried — 
She  was  all  the  world  to  me. 


Be  sure  You  call,  as  You  pass  by. 

It  was  a  rustic  cottage  gate, 

And  over  it  a  maiden  leant, 
Upon  her  face  and  youthful  grace, 

A  lover's  eyes  were  bent ; 
"  Good-night,"  she  said,  "  once  more  good-night, 

The  evening  6tar  is  rising  high, 
But  early  with  the  morning  light, 

Be  sure  you  call,  as  you  pass  by." 

Spring  had  into  summer  leapt, 

Brown  autumn's  hand  her  treasures  threw, 
When  forth  a  merry  party  swept, 

In  bridal  garments,  two  by  two ; 
I  saw  it  was  the  maid  that  blessed 

The  evening  star  that  rose  so  high, 
For  he,  as  I  suppose  you've  guessed, 

Had  often  called  as  he  passed  by. 

Oh,  blissful  lot,  where  all's  forgot, 

Save  love,  that  wreathes  the  heart  with  flow'rs, 
Oh,  what's  a  throne,  to  that  dear  cot, 

Whose  only  wealth  is  happy  hours  ? 
I  know,  to  leave  their  home  they're  loth, 

Although  the  evening  starve  high, 
But  if  you  wish  to  see  them  both, 

Perchance  you'll  call  as  you  pass  by. 


26 


Kiss  me  once  more,  Mother. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co., Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Kiss  me  once  more,  for  the  death  damp  is  stealing 

Over  my  brow,  mother,  over  my  brow ; 
And  round  my  poor  heart  the  chill  fingers  are  feeling, 

For  close  by  my  side  stands  the  death  angel  now ; 
Oh,  thus  to  die  in  my  youth's  early  morning, 

Leaving  you  lonely  my  loss  to  deplore ; 
But  the  good  Father  will  care  for  you,  mother, 

I'll  wait  for  you  there  on  the  shadowless  shore. 

CHORL'S. 

Kiss  me  once  more,  kiss  me  once  more, 
I'm  bound  to  the  land  of  the  shadowless  shore ; 
I  hear  the  sweet  music  of  those  gone  before, 
Kiss  me  once  more,  mother,  kiss  me  once  more. 

Kiss  me  once  more,  for  the  daylight  is  stealing, 

Dim  grows  my  sight,  mother,  dim  grows  my  sight ; 
And  through  the  dark  waters  I  soon  shall  be  wading, 

And  these  eyes  must  close  in  the  ne'er  ending  night ; 
But  I'll  awake  in  a  lovelier  region, 

Where  the  pure  spirits  shall  know  death  no  more ; 
Where  the  sweet  flowers  shall  fade  not,  dear  mother, 

I'll  wait  for  you  there  on  the  shadowless  shore. 

Kiss  me  once  more,  for  there  seems  a  soft  whisp'ring 

Close  to  my  ear,  mother,  close  to  my  ear ; 
The  angels  are  waiting,  their  bright  wings  are  glist'ning, 

Their  music  so  soft  and  so  soothing  I  hear ; 
Home,  going  home,  for  my  work  here  is  ending, 

Soon  I  shall  join  those  who've  gone  on  before ; 
Down  by  the  banks,  with  the  seraphs,  dear  mother, 

I'll  wait  for  you  there  on  the  shadowless  shore. 


27 


High  Times,  Good  Times. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright 

Oh,  de  Yanks  hab  come  and  gone  and  went, 

And  done  it  down  in  Dixie, 
And  de  massa  take  de  gals  and  run  away ; 

Oh,  dey  play  de  berry  cloben  foot 

Around  in  dis  bicinity, 
And  dey  gib  de  darkeys  all  a  hollerday. 

CHORUS. 

High  times,  good  times,  down  in  massa's  kitchum, 
Dis  chile  he  gain  jes'  sebcn  poun's  a  day ; 

Oh,  fillima,  illima,  boo,  hurrah,  I'se  gwine  to  be  a  Gin'ral, 
Oh,  dat's  what  all  de  Yankee  sojers  say. 

Oh,  ole  massa  say  he  wish  he  know, 
Which  side  would  get  a  lickin', 

Den  he  know  prezactly  what  de  word  to  say  ; 
But  he  awful  frighten  when  he  hear, 
De  Yanks  hab  come  for  certainty, 

Den  he  fink  his  health  so  poor  he  couldn't  stay. 

Oh,  dey  said  dat  when  de  Yankees  come, 

Dey'd  lick  dem  all  to  pieces, 
But  I  t'ink  de  lickin' s  all  de  oder  way ; 

Dis  yere  chile  hab  seen  some  runnin', 

But  dat  beat  his  whole  consperiance, 
As  the  courthouse  says  'twas  done  widout  delay. 
Dere's  Clem  and  Lem,  and  Pomp  and  Tom, 

And  Titus  all  a  dancin', 
And  ole  Egypt's  took  de  fiddle  for  to  play ; 

Dis  darkies  feet  won't  keep 

De  parallagram  uuticular, 
Case  dey  want  to  celebrate  dis  hollerday. 


Tour  Fortune  is  too  Small  for  Me, 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Water?,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

My  Sallie,  long  I've  loved  you,  dear, 

And  longer  still  I  may  ; 
And,  love,  if  you  but  had  the  c7iink9 

I'd  marry  you  to-day  ; 
This  heart  and  hand  would  soon  be  yours, 

If  you  but  had  the  dimes ; 
A  purse  as  long  and  lank  as  thine 

Won't  do  for  these  hard  times. 

There's  Molly  Grimes,  she  offered  me 

Her  fortune  and  her  heart, 
If  I'd  consent  to  change  her  name, 

And  make  her  Molly  Smart ; 
But  then  her  fortune  proved  to  bo 

So  very  far  away, 
I  thought  before  I  got  the  tin, 

There  might  be  some  delay. 

They  say  you  have  an  Uncle,  love, 

That's  very  rich  and  old, 
And  that  he  means  to  leave  to  you 

His  silver  and  his  gold  ; 
If  so,  my  love,  my  dearest  love, 

Don't  throw  yourself  away, 
But  take  my  heart  and  give  me  yours, 

And  name  the  happy  day. 

Your  fortune  now's  too  small  for  me, 

I'm  sure  it  would  not  suit, 
I  can  not  give  my  heart  for  thine 

Unless  you  give  me  boot ; 


29 


Then,  Sallie,  while  your  Uncle  lives, 

I'll  flirt  with  cousin  Sue, 
And  when  he  dies  if  you  know  what, 

In  faith  I'll  marry  you. 


Life  on  the  CanawL 

A  life  on  the  raging  canawl, 

A  homo  on  its  muddy  deep, 
Where  through  summer,  spring  and  fall 

The  frogs  their  vigils  keep ; 
Like  a  fish  on  the  hook  I  pine, 

On  this  dull,  unchanging  shore : 
Oh,  give  me  the  packet  line, 

And  the  muddy  canawl's  dull  roar. 

Once  more  on  the  deck  I  stand 

Of  my  own  swift  gliding  craft ; 
The  horses  trot  off  on  the  land, 

And  the  boat  follows  close  abaft ; 
We  shoot  through  the  turbid  foam 

Like  a  bull-frog  in  a  squall, 
And,  like  the  frogs,  our  home 

We'll  find  in  the  muddy  canawL 

The  sun  is  no  longer  in  view, 

The  clouds  have  begun  to  frown. 
But,  with  a  bumper  or  two, 

We'll  say,  let  the  storm  come  down ; 
And  this  song  we'll  sing,  one  and  all, 

While  the  storm  around  us  pelts, 
A  life  on  the  muddy  canawl, 

Oh,  we  don't  want  "  nothin*  else." 


I  Dream  of  My  Mother  and' My  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  "Waters,  Music  Publisher. 
4S1  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

My  mother  and  my  home, 

Ah,  what  pleasant  words  to  me ; 
They  light  up  my  drooping  heart 

Wherever  I  may  be ; 
And  the  joys  of  other  days 

O'er  my  senses  gently  glide, 
While  lonely  I  struggle 

With  the  world's  busy  tide ; 
While  I  rest  from  my  toils 

At  the  close  of  day, 
And  bright,  happy  visions 

Around  me  play. 
My  mother,  my  mother,  my  dear  and  gentle  mother, 
I  dream  of  my  mother  and  my  home. 

My  mother  and  my  home, 

Ah,  the  happy  days  are  gone, 
When  all  their  sweet  blessings 

Were  around  my  pathway  thrown ; 
But  visions  of  bright  days 

Will  still  come  back  again, 
Renewing  departed  joys 

Like  some  familiar  strain ; 
I  see  many  homes 

Filled  with  mirth  and  glee ; 
But  now,  in  this  wide  world, 

There's  none  for  me ; 
But  the  hours  brighter  grow,  and  my  heart  beats  free, 
When  I  dream  of  my  mother  and  my  home. 


31 


Come  in  and  Shut  the  Door. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher!. 
563  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  do  not  stand  so  long  outside, 

Why  need  you  be  so  shy  ? 
The  people's  eyes  are  open,  John, 

As  they  are  passing  by ; 
You  can  not  tell  what  they  may  think, 

They've  said  strange  thing  before, 
And  if  you  want  to  talk  a  while, 
Come  in  and  shut  the  door. 
Cnomus — Come  in,  come  in,  come  in,  come  in, 

Come  in,  come  in  and  shut  the  door ; 
Come  in,  come  in,  come  in,  come  in, 
Come  in,  come  in  and  shut  the  door. 

Kay,  do  not  say,  "  No,  thank  you,  Jane," 

With  such  a  bashful  smile — 
You  said  when  ladies  whispered  "  no," 

They  meant  "  yes"  all  the  while  ; 
My  father,  too,  will  welcome  you — 

I  told  you  that  before ; 
It  doesn't  look  well  standing  here, 

Come  in  and  shut  the  door.      (Chorus.) 

You  said  I  did  not  answer  you, 

To  what  was  said  last  night ; 
I  heard  your  question  in  the  dark, 

Thought  on  it  in  the  light ; 
And  now  my  lips  shall  utter  what 

My  heart  has  said  before, 
Yes,  dearest,  I — but  stay,  awhile — 

Come  m  and  shut  the  door.      (Chorus.) 


Tell  me,  Mother,  can  I  go? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Son,  Music  Publisher*, 
643  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  am  writing  to  you,  mother, 

Knowing  well  what  you  wiH  say, 
When  you  read  with  tearful  fondness, 

What  I  write  to  you  to-day ; 
Knowing,  too,  the  flame  of  ardor 

On  each  loyal  mother's  part, 
That  will  kindle  with  each  impulse, 
With  each  throbbing  of  your  heart. 
Chorus — Oh,  mother,  oh,  mother, 
Oh,  mother,  can  I  go  ? 
I  am  eager,  anxious,  longing, 
Tell  me,  mother,  can  I  go  ? 

I  am  young  and  slender,  mother, 

They  would  call  me  yet  a  boy, 
But  I  know  the  land  I  live  in, 

And  the  blessings  I  enjoy ; 
I  am  old  enough,  my  mother, 

To  be  loyal,  proud  and  true 
To  the  faithful  sense  of  party 

I  have  ever  learned  from  you.  (Choevb.) 

I  have  written  to  you,  mother, 

With  a  consciousness  of  right— 
I  am  thinking  of  you,  fondly, 

With  a  loyal  heart  to-night ; 
When  I  have  your  noble  bidding, 

Which  shall  tell  me  to  press  on, 
I  will  come  and  kiss  you,  mother, 

Come  and  kiss  you  and  be  gone. 


33 


We  must  conquer  this  rebellion, 

Let  the  doubting  heart  be  still ; 
AVe  must  conquer  it  or  perish — 

"We  must  conquer  and  we  will ! 
But  the  faithful  must  not  falter, 

And  shall  I  be  wanting  ?  No  1 
Bid  me  go,  my  dearest  mother, 

Tell  me,  mother,  can  I  go  ?       (Chohus.) 


Bonnie  Breast-knots. 

Hey  the  bonny,  oh,  the  bonny, 
Hey  the  bonny  breast-knots ; 
Blithe  and  merry  were  they  aT, 
'When  they  put  on  the  breast-knots. 
There  was  a  bridal  in  our  town, 
And  till't  the  lasses  a*  were  boun*, 
Wi'  mangle  facings  a'  their  gowns, 
And  some  o'  them  had  breast-knots. 
Singing,  hey  the  bonny,  etc. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  lads  convene, 
Some  clad  in  blue,  some  clad  in  green, 
AVi'  shining  buckles  i'  their  sheen, 
And  flowers  upon  their  waistcoats ; 
Out  cam  the  wives  a'  wi'  applause, 
And  wished  the  lassie  happy  days, 
And  muckle  thought  they  o1  her  claes, 
Especially  the  breast-knots ; 
The  bride  was  young,  the  bride  was  fair, 
Wi'  faultless  form  an'  graceful  air, 
Her  looks  they  weru  'yond  a  compare, 
AVhen  she  put  on  the  breast-knots. 

Ringing,  hey  the  bonnv,  etc. 
No.  13  2 


34 


Tony  Pastor's  Combination  Song. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

As  you  walk  through  the  town  on  a  fine  summer's  day, 
The  subject  of  my  song  you  have  met  on  your  way ; 
On  railings  and  on  fences,  wherever  you  may  go, 
You  will  see  the  penny  ballads  stuck  up  in  a  row ; 
The  titles  for  to  read,  you  may  stop  for  a  while, 
And  some  are  so  odd  they  will  cause  you  to  smile ; 
I've  noted  them  down,  as  I  read  them  along, 
And  I've  put  them  all  together  to  make  up  my  song. 

There  was  "Abraham's  daughter"  "Goin'  out  on  a  spree," 
With  "  Old  Uncle  Snow,"  "  In  the  cottage  by  the  sea ;" 
"  If  your  foot  is  pretty  show  it "  at  "  Lanigan's  ball," 
And  "  Why  did  she  leave  him  "  "  On  the  raging  canawl ;" 
There  was  "  Bonny  Annie  Laurie,"  "  With  the  jockey 

hat  and  feather," 
"  I  don't  much  think  of  you,"  "  We  were  boys  and  girls 

together," 
44  Do  they  think  of  me  at  home,"  "  I'll  be  gay  and 

happy  still," 
"Take  your  time,   Miss   Lucy  Long,"    with    "The 

sword  of  Bunker  Hill." 

"  When  this  cruel  war  is  over  "  "  No  Irish  need  apply," 
"For  every  thing  is  lovely,"  and  "The  goose  hangs  high ;" 
"  That  young  girl  from  New  Jersey,"  "  Oh,  wilt  thou 

be  my  bride  ?" 
And  "  Oft  in  the  stilly  night"  "  We'll  all  take  a  ride ;" 
"  Let  me  kiss  him  for  his  mother,"   "  He's  a  gay 

young  gambolier," 
"  I  am  going  to  fight  mit  Sigel"  and  "De  bully  lager  bier  ;" 


35 


44  Ilunky  Boy  is  Yankee  Doodle,"  "  When  the  cannons 

loudly  roar," 
"  "We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,"  u  Three  hundred 

dollars  more." 

M  In  the  days  when  I  was  hard  up,"  and  u  My  Mary  Ann," 
M  My  Johnny  was  a  shoemaker,"  "  Or  any  other  man  ;" 
"The   Captain  with  the  whiskers,"   and  "Annie  of 

the  vale," 
"  Along  with  old  Bob  Ridley,"  "  A  riding  on  a  rail ;" 
44  Oh,  rock   me  to  sleep,  mother,"  "Tin  going  round 

the  Horn;' 
4'  I'm  not  myself  at  all,"  "  I'm  a  bachelor  forlorn  ;" 
44  Mother,  is  the  battle  over?"    ''What  are  the   men 

about?" 
4,IIow  are  you,  Horace  Greeley?"  44 Does  your  mother 

know  you're  out  ?" 

44  We  won't  go  home  till  morning,"  with  "  The  bold 

privateer," 
44  Annie  Lisle  "   and  44  Zouave  Johnny  "   i4  Ridin'  in  a 

railroad  keer ;" 
44  We  are  coming,  sister  Mary,"  with  4i  The  folks  that 

put  on  airs," 
44  We  are  marching  along,"  with  44  The  four  and  thirty 

stars ;" 
44  You   are  going   far   away,"  4i  The  good-by  at    the 

door," 
44  And  did  you  sec  my  sister,"  with  "  The  ring  my 

mother  w  • 
44  Our  Union's  starry  banner,"  44The  flag  of  Washington," 
Shall  float  victorious  o'er  the  land,   from   Maine   to 

Oregon. 


3S 


Close  his  Eyes,  his  Work  is  Done. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Close  his  eyes,  his  work  is  done ! 

"What  to  him  is  friend  or  foeman, 
Rise  of  moon  or  set  of  sun, 

Hand  of  man  or  kiss  of  woman  ? 
Chorus — Lay  him  low,  lay  him  low, 

Under  the  clover  or  under  the  snow ; 
What  cares  he  ?     He  can  not  know, 
Lay  him  low,  lay  him  low. 
As  man  may,  he  fought  his  fight, 

Proved  his  truth  by  his  endeavor ; 
Let  him  sleep  in  solemn  night, 

Sleep  forever  and  forever.  (Chorus.) 

Fold  him  in  his  country*s  stars, 

Roll  the  drum  and  fire  the  volley ; 
What  to  him  are  all  our  wars  ? 

What  but  death  bemocking  folly  ?  (Chorus.) 
Leave  him  to  God's  watching  eye, 

Trust  him  to  the  Hand  that  made  him ; 
Mortal  love  weeps  idly  by, 

God  alone  has  power  to  save  him.  (Chorus.) 


One  Single  Kiss. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Come,  oh,  come,  my  dearest  little  girl, 

Thy  lover  is  here  waiting ; 
Listen  to  the  rideldididow, 

]VIy  banjo  now  is  making. 
Rideldidow,  rideldididow,  romtom,  romtom,  etc. 


37 

I  then  shall  tell  you  all  I  feel, 

If  thou  will  only  hear  me ; 
But,  being  like  the  writhing  eel, 

"When  caught  'tis  hard  to  hold  thee. 
From  thy  sweet  lips  one  single  kiss, 

Is  all  that  I  was  asking ; 
"  No,  no,"  thou  saidst,  "  this  is  a  bliss 

I  can  not  yet  be  granting." 
Take,  then,  sweet  girl,  my  heart  and  hand, 

'Tis  all  that  I  am  owning ; 
But  do  not  longer  now  withstand, 

Come,  listen  to  my  wooing. 


Weep  no  More  for  Lily, 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
431  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 
Lily  of  the  valley, 

Modest,  sweet  and  mild, 
Ever  pure  and  lovely 

Was  the  gentle  child  ; 
Sunny  hair  had  Lily, 

Eyes  of  azure  blue, 
Footstep  soft  and  gentle 

As  the  failing  of  the  dew, 
Chohus, — "Weep  no  more  for  Lily,  Lily's  gone  above ; 
Angels  came  and  bore  her  to  the  land  of  love. 
Smiling  as  the  sunbeam, 

Was  her  face  so  fair, 
Passing  like  a  day-dream, 

A  zephyr  of  the  air  ; 
Tripping  o'er  the  heather, 

Light  her  footstep  fell, 
Bearing  ever  with  her 

Fairy's  mystic  spell.  (Chorus.) 


38 


Thy  Mother  will  Eock  Thee  to  Sleep. 

Has  the  cold,  cold  world,  my  darling, 

Left  its  imprint  on  thy  heart  ? 
Has  the  inem'ry  of  thy  mother 

E'er  been  suffered  to  depart  ? 
Though  thy  heart  is  warm  and  loving, 

Let  the  future  its  wealth  keep  j 
Till,  when  life's  sad  dream  is  over, 

I  shall  rock  my  child  to  sleep. 
Do  the  sweet  thoughts  of  thy  childhood 

Tempt  thy  lone  heart  to  rebel  ? 
And  with  mem'ries  of  life's  freshness, 

Ask  thy  tears  of  grief  to  swell  ? 
Think  of  scenes  where  joy  eternal 

Gleams  with  beauty  undefiled, 
Where  sweet  happiness  dwells  ever — 

I  shall  rock  to  sleep  my  child. 
"Wreath  thy  face  in  smiles  so  rosy, 

That  the  noonday  sun  shall  pale ; 
And  let  tears  of  woe  and  sorrow, 

On  thy-  bright  face  tell  no  tale ; 
Though  thy  path  be  hard  and  thorny, 

Do  not  stay  to  fear  or  weep, 
For  when  thou  shalt  cross  death's  river, 

I  will  rock  my  child  to  sleep. 
Let  no  shadows  e'er  dismay  thee, 

Let  no  grief  thy  heart  annoy ; 
Think  ©f  realms  where  I  am  waiting 

For  thee  with  a  smile  of  joy ; 
Angel  arms  shall  bear  thee  upward, 

Angels  shall  their  vigils  keep ; 
When,  in  lands  of  bliss  unfading, 

I  shall  rock  my  child  to  sleep. 


39 


The  Village  Maiden. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firtit,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
563  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  village  bells  are  ringing, 

And  merrily  they  chime  ; 
The  village  choir  is  singing, 

For  'tis  a  happy  time ; 
The  chapel  walls  are  laden 

With  garlands  rich  any  gay, 
To  greet  the  village  maiden 

Upon  her  wedding  day ; 
To  greet  the  village  maiden 

Upon  her  wedding  day. 


But  summer  joys  have  faded, 

And  summer  hopes  have  flown, 
Her  brow  with  grief  is  shaded, 

Her  happy  smiles  are  gone ; 
Yet  why  her  heart  is  laden, 

Not  one,  alas,  can  say, 
Who  saw  the  village  maiden 

Upon  her  wedding  day. 

The  village  bells  are  ringing, 

But  hark,  how  sad  and  slow, 
The  village  choir  is  singing 

A  requiem  soft  and  low. 
And  all  with  sorrow  laden 

Their  tearful  tribute  pay, 
Who  saw  the  village  maiden 

Upon  her  wedding  day. 


40 


If  You've  only  got  a  Mustache. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
4S1  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  all  of  you  poor  single  men, 

Don't  ever  give  up  in  despair, 
For  there's  always  a  chance  while  there's  life 

To  capture  the  hearts  of  the  fair ; 
No  matter  what  may  be  your  age, 

You  always  may  cut  a  fine  dash, 
You  will  suit  all  the  girls  to  a  hair 

If  you've  only  got  a  mustache ; 
A  mustache,  a  mustache, 
If  you've  only  got  a  mustache. 

No  matter  for  manners  or  style, 

No  matter  for  birth  or  for  fame, 
All  these  used  to  have  something- to  do 

With  young  ladies  changing  their  name 
There's  no  reason  now  to  despond, 

Or  go  and  do  any  thing  rash, 
For  you'll  do,  though  you  can't  raise  a  cent, 

If  you'll  only  raise  a  mustache ; 
A  mustache,  a  mustache, 
If  you'll  only  raise  a  mustache. 

Your  head  may  be  as  thick  as  a  block, 

And  empty  as  any  foot-ball, 
Oh,  your  eyes  may  be  green  as  the  grass, 

Your  heart  just  as  hard  as  the  wall ; 
Yet  take  the  advice  that  I  give, 

You  will  soon  gain  affection  and  cash, 
And  will  be  all  the  rage  with  the  girls 

If  you'll  only  get  a  mustache  ; 
A  mustsche,  a  mustache, 
If  you'll  only  get  a  mustache. 


41 


I  once  was  in  sorrow  and  tear-, 

Because  I  was  jilted,  you  know, 
So  right  down  to  the  river  I  ran 

To  quickly  dispose  of  my  woe ; 
A  good  friend,  he  gave  me  advice, 

And  timely  prevented  the  splash, 
Now  at  home  IVe  a  wife  and  ten  heirs, 

And  all  through  a  handsome  mustache, 
A  mustache,  a  mustache, 
And  all  through  a  handsome  mustache. 


Those  Evening  Bells. 

Those  evening  bells,  those  evening  bells 
How  many  a  tale  their  music  tells, 
Of  youth  and  home,  and  that  sweet  time 
When  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime ; 
Of  youth  and  home,  and  that  sweet  time 
"When  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime. 

Those  joyous  hours  have  passed  away, 
And  many  a  heart  that  then  was  gay, 
"Within  the  tomb  now  darkly  dwells, 
And  hears  no  more  those  ev'ning  bells ; 
•"Within  the  tomb  now  darkly  dwells, 
And  hears  no  more  those  ev'ning  bells 

And  so  'twill  be  when  I  am  gone, 
That  tuneful  peal  will  still  ring  on, 
"While  other  bards  shall  wake  these  dells, 
And  sing  your  praise,  sweet  ev'ning  bells ; 
"While  other  bards  shall  wake  these  dells, 
And  sing  your  praise,  sweet  ev'ning  bells. 


43 


Willie  has  Gone  to  the  War. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher*, 
547  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owners  of  *the  copyright. 

The  blue-bird  is  singing  his  lay, 

To  all  the  sweet  flow'rs  of  the  dale, 
The  wild  bee  is  roaming  at  play, 

And  soft  is  the  sigh  of  the  gale ; 
I  stray  by  the  brookside  alone, 

Where  oft  we  have  wandered  before, 
And  weep  for  my  loved  one,  my  own, 
My  Willie  has  gone  to  the  war. 
Chords — Willie  has  gone  to  the  war, 

Willie,  Willie,  my  loved  one,  my  own, 
Willie  has  gone  to  the  war, 

Willie,  Willie,  my  loved  one,  is  gone. 

'Twas  here,  where  the  lily  bells  grow, 

I  last  saw  his  noble  young  face, 
And  now,  while  he's  gone  to  the  foe, 

Oh,  dearly  I  love  the  old  place ; 
The  whispering  waters  repeat 

The  name  that  I  love  o'er  and  o'er 
And  daises  that  nod  at  my  feet, 

Say  Willie  has  gone  to  the  war. 

The  leaves  of  the  forest  will  fade, 

The  roses  will  wither  and  die, 
But  spring  to  our  home  in  the  glade 

On  fairy-like  pinions  will  fly ; 
And  still  I  will  hopefully  wait 

The  day  when  these  battles  are  o'er, 
And  pine  like  a  bird  for  its  mate, 

Till  Willie  comes  homes  from  the  war. 


43 


Jonathan  wants  a  Wife. 

Jonathan.  I  can  not  tell  the  reason,  bnt  I  really 

want  a  wtfc, 
And  every  body  tells  me  'tis  the  sweetest  thing  in  life, 
But  as  for  cheeks  like  roses,  and  pouting  lips,  and  such, 
I  know  no  more  about  them  than  Ponto  does  the  Dutch. 
Teedle  ol  lol,  teedle  ol  lol,  teedle  ol  de  da. 

Harriet,  {imitating).  If  I  consent  to  have  you  we 

must  reside  in  town, 
And  sport  a  coach  and  horses  to  travel  up  and  down, 
With  footman  all  in  livery  to  make  a  splendid  show, 
And  when  you  don't  attend  me,  1*11  get  another  beau. 
Teedle  ol  lol,  etc. 

Jonathan.  If  that's  your  calculation,  we  never  can 

agree, 
For  such  a  mode  of  living  will  never  do  me, 
And  as  for  beaux  and  lovers,though  you  may  like  the  fun, 
I  guess  the  deacon's  Sally  will  be  content  with  one. 
Teedle  ol  lol, 

Harriet.  Oh,  then,  you  do  not  love  me? 

Jonathan.  I  never  said  I  would. 
Harriet.  Did  you  not  swear  this  moment — 

Jonathan.  To  love  you  if  I  could. 
Harriet.  Go,  take  the  deacon's  Sally,  with  her  linsey 

woolsey  gown. 
Jonathan.  I  guess  as  how  I  better,  for  I  will  not 
live  in  town. 

Harriet.  Teedle  ol  lol, 
Jonathan.  Teedle  ol  lol, 
Harriet.  Teedle  ol  lol, 
Both.  Teedle  lol  de  da. 


44 


Fll  be  Home  To-morrow. 

Copied  "by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  o^  the  copyright. 

I've  wandered  far  from  those  I  love, 

And  many  years  have  passed, 
Since  in  my  dear  old  cherished  liome 

I  saw  their  faces  last ; 
But  now  I  am  returning, 

And  my  journey  soon  will  end, 
I'll  join  the  throng  where  happy  smiles 
And  gentle  voices  blend. 
Chorus — Farewell,  farewell, 

Ev'ry  cloud  of  sorrow, 
All  my  heart  is  filled  with  joy, 
For  I'll  be  home  to-morrow, 

How  dear  the  hearts  that  dwell  within 

That  sweet  domestic  realm ; 
I  know  that  they,  have  longed  for  me 

As  I  have  longed  for  them ; 
The  thought  that  I  am  near  them, 

Makes  my  lonely  spirit  yearn 
To  hear  the  burst  of  gladness 

That  will  welcome  my  return. 


I  Watch  for  Thee  in  Starless  Night. 

I  watch  for  thee  in  starless  night, 
I  list  for  thee  when  winds  are  still, 

Look  forth,  thine  eyes  shall  give  me  light, 
Speak,  and  my  heart  with  music  fill. 

Good-night,  good-night,  good-night,  good-night, 
My  watch  I  keep  near  to  thee, 

While  others  sleep,  good-night,  good-night, 

Good-night,  a  thousand  times  good-night. 


45 


What,  will  thine  eyes  not  deign  to  shine  ? 

Nay,  then,  my  heart  is  lone  and  drear ; 
What,  will  thy  voice  not  answer  mine  ? 

My  song  thou  wilt  not  come  to  hear  ? 
Good-night,  good-night,  good  night, 

Good-night,  ah  let  me  hear, 

That  one  word  my  soul  to  cheer, 
Good-night,  a  thousand  times  good-night. 


Lay  Me  to  Best,  Dear  Mother. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher*, 
563  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  beauty  and  sweetness  of  morning, 

Have  faded  in  darkness  and  night, 
And  roses  that  bloomed  at  its  dawning, 

Have  vanished  in  shade  from  our  sight ; 
The  breezes  that  fanned  with  their  motion 

Are  wear}',  and  all,  save  the  crest 
Of  the  restless  and  murmuring  ocean, 
Is  sleeping — oh,  lay  me  to  rest. 
Chorus — The  voices  of  loved  ones  are  calling, 
In  realms  of  the  good  and  the  blest, 
Are  calling  me  upward  to  heaven, 
Dear  mother,  oh,  lay  me  to  rest. 

I've  watched  through  the  day,  darling  mother, 

For  loved  ones  that  never  may  come, 
The  fondest  among  them  dear  brother, 

Who  ne'er  will  return  to  our  home ; 
They  say  he  was  manly  and  fearless, 

And  fell  with  the  bravest  and  best, 
Without  him  our  home  will  be  cheerless, 

The  angels  have  laid  him  to  rest. 


46 


Sam  Slick,  the  Yankee  Peddler. 

I'm  a  cute  young  gentleman,  I  guess, 

In  ev'ry  thing  a  meddler ; 
Why,  don't  you  know  me  ?     I  am  no  less 

Than  Samuel  Slick,  the  peddler ; 
I've  articles  first-rate  and  new, 

In  course,  the  lowest  prices, 
For  men  and  women — young'uns,  too, 

To  suit  all  sorts  and  sizes. 
I've  side  combs — first-rate  tortoise-shell — 

Against  the  world  I'll  back  'em ; 
If  they  underneath  a  cart-wheel  fell 

It  wouldn't  even  crack  'em ; 
I've  got  some  razors  spic-span  new, 

Invented  by  my  dad,  oh ! 
So  sharp  they'd  cut  your  leg  in  two, 

If  you  only  crossed  their  shadow. 
I've  watch-guards  made  in  reg'lar  stylo- 
New  Yorkers  Only  make  'em — 
A  thief  might  drag  you  fifty  miles, 

I  guess,  before  he'd  break  'em ; 
I've  spectacles  to  clear  the  sight, 

And  light  as  any  feather — 
You  may  see  to  read  in  pitch  dark  night, 

And  slick  through  foggy  weather. 
Here's  wedding-rings  and  negligees — 

And  ear-rings  none  so  dusty ; 
Pins  and  bodkins,  if  you  please, 

For  maidens  old  and  fusty ; 
So  come,  young  ladies,  don't  be  slow, 

In  all  things  I'm  a  meddler — 
Sport  your  dollars,  'fore  I  go, 

With  Sam,  the  Yankee  peddler. 


47 


Kiss  me  as  of  old,  Mother. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  <fc  Son,  Music  Publishers, 
643  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  tut  copyright. 

On  the  scene  of  conflict,  mother, 

Wounded,  bleeding,  here  I  lay ; 
Angels  hover  round  me,  mother, 

Words  of  comfort  seem  to  say ; 
fhey  bid  me  think  of  you,  mother, 
And  the  others  aroimd  my  home, 
Would  'twere  Heaven's  will,  dear  mother, 
You  to  soothe  your  boy  could  come. 
Chorus — Kiss  me  for  my  brother,  sister, 

When  I'm  laid  deep  in  my  grave ; 
Tell  I  died  true  to  my  country, 
Her  honor  tried  to  save. 

All  my  boyish  troubles,  mother, 

Overlook  with  tender  care, 
None  so  loving  as  a  mother, 

She  doth  all  our  sorrows  share ; 
Heav'n  will  watch  o'er  thee,  mother, 

May  He  soothe  thy  bosom's  pain, 
Fare  thee  well,  my  darling  mother, 

In  heav'n  may  we  meet  again. 

I  feel  my  spirit  going,  mother, 

To  the  land  of  peace  and  rest, 
Kiss  me  as  of  old,  mother, 

Lay  my  head  upon  your  breast ; 
I  strove  to  live  worthy,  mother, 

Of  heav'n  and  thee  so  dear ; 
I  go,  there's  the  angel,  mother, 

Hush  that  sigh,  mother,  shed  no  tear. 


48 


Ouffee's  War  Song. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co..  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Dey  ring  de  bell,  dey  boom  de  gun, 

Dey 're  'joicing  near  and  far ; 
Coz  mighty  things  hab  come  to  pass, 

Since  Pompey  went  to  war ; 
Dey  could  not  whip  de  spunky  Souf, 

Widout  de  darkey  aid ; 
So  gedder  round  ye  brudders  black, 
And  cheer  de  black  brigade. 
Chorus — Oh,  General  Grant's  de  man  to-day 
De  country  has  in  view ; 
He's  whipped  de  rebels  eb'r  time, 
And  taken  Vicksburg,  too. 

Pompey  an'  Sam,  an'  all  de  boys, 

Hab  took  deir  sword  and  gun, 
An'  helped  de  w'ite  folks  in  de  fight, 

An'  made  de  rebels  run ; 
Ole  Afric's  sons  hab  won  a  name 

Like  them  will  neber  fade ; 
So  gedder  round  ye  brudders  black, 

An'  cheer  de  black  brigade. 

Oh,  what  a  Linkon  Abe  will  be, 

When  peace  comes  to  dis  land ; 
An'  all  de  darkeys  shout  for  joy, 

An'  take  him  by  de  hand ; 
De  best  of  homage  eberwhar, 

To  Abraham  should  be  paid ; 
Because  he  let  de  darkies  'list, 

And  form  de  black  brigade. 


49 


The  Scientific  Frog. 

Copied  by  permission   of  Horace  Watef.?,  Music  Publisher, 
4S1  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Of  all  the  fanny  things  that  lire, 

In  woodland,  marsh  or  bog, 
That  creep  the  ground  or  fly  the  air, 

The  funniest  thing's  the  frog ; 
The  frog,  the  scientificest 

Of  nature's  handy  work ; 
The  frog,  that  neither  walks  nor  runs, 
But  goes  it  with  a  jerk. 
CHORr&— -  The  funniest  thing's  a  frog, 

The  funniest  thing's  a  frog ; 

Of  all  the  funny  things  that  live, 

The  funniest  thing's  a  frog. 

With  pants  and  coat  of  bottle  green, 

And  yellow  fancy  vest, 
He  plunges  into  mud  and  mire, 

All  hi  his  Sunday  best. 
When  he  sits  down  he's  standing  up, 

As  Pat  O'Kim  once  said ; 
And  for  convenience  sake  he  wears 

His  eyes  on  top  his  head.  (Chorus.) 

You  see  him  sitting  on  a  log, 

Above  the  "  vasty  deep  ;" 
You  feel  inclined  to  say  :   M  Old  chap, 

Just  look  before  you  leap  !" 
You  raise  your  cane  to  hit  him  o'er 

His  ugly-looking  mug ; 
But  ere  you  git  it  half  way  up, 

Adown  he  goes,  ker  chug.         (CnoRCS.) 


50 


Barney  O'Hea. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
563  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Now  let  me  alone,  though  I  know  you  won't, 
I  know  you  won't,  I  know  you  won't, 
Let  me  alone,  though  I  know  you  won't, 

Impudent  Barney  O'Hea ; 
It  makes  me  outrageous,  when  you're  so  contagious, 
And  you'd  better  look  out  for  the  stout  Gorney  Creagh, 
For  he  is  the  boy  that  believes  I'm  his  joy, 
So  you'd  better  behave  yourself,  Barney  O'Hea. 
Impudent  Barney,  none  of  your  blarney, 

Impudent  Barney  O'Hea. 
I  hope  you're  not  going  to  Brandon  fair, 
To  Brandon  fair,  to  Brandon  fair, 
For  indeed  I'm  not  wanting  to  meet  you  there, 

Impudent  Barney  O'Hea ; 
For  Corney's  at  Cork,  and  my  brother's  at  work, 
And  my  mother  sits  spinning  at  home  all  the  day ; 
So  no  one  will  be  there  of  poor  me  to  take  care, 
So  I  hope  you  won't  follow  me,  Barney  O'Hea. 
Impudent  Barney,  none  of  your  blarney, 

Impudent  Barney  O'Hea. 
But  as  I  was  walking  up  Brandon  street, 
Up  Brandon  street,  up  Brandon  street, 
Just  who  do  you  think  that  myself  should  meet, 

But  impudent  Barney  O'Hea ; 
He  said  I  looked  killin',  I  called  him  a  villain, 
And  bid  him,  that  minute,  get  out  of  my  way ; 
He  said  I  was  joking,  and  grinned  so  provoking, 
I  couldn't  help  laughing  at  Barney  O'Hea. 
Impudent  Barney,  he  has  the  blarney, 

Impudent  Barney  O'Hea. 


51 


He  knew  'twas  all  right  when  he  saw  me  smile, 
He  saw  me  smile,  he  saw  me  smile, 
For  he  is  the  rogue  up  to  ev'ry  wile, 

Impudent  Barney  O'Hea ; 
He  coaxed  me  to  chuse  him,  for  if  Td  refuse  him, 
He  swore  he'd  kill  Corney  the  very  next  day, 
So,  for  fear  'twould  go  further,  and  just  to  save  murther, 
I  think  I  must  marry  that  mad-cap  O'Hea. 
Bothering  Barney,  he  has  the  blarney, 

To  make  a  girl  Mistress  O'Hea, 


Sweet  Evelina. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

'Way  down  in  the  meadow,  where  the  lily  first  blows. 
Where  the  wind  from  the  mountain  ne'er  ruffles  the  rose, 
Lives  fond  Evelina,  the  sweet  little  dove, 
The  pride  of  the  valley,  the  girl  that  I  love. 
Chorus — Sweet  Evelina,  dear  Evelina, 

My  love  for  thee  shall  never,  never  dio. 

She's  fair  as  a  rose,  like  a  lamb  she  is  meek, 
And  she  never  was  known  to  put  paint  on  her  cheek  ; 
In  the  most  graceful  curls  hangs  her  raven-black  hair, 
And  she  never  requires  perfumery  there. 

Evelina  and  I,  one  fine  evening  in  June, 
Took  a  walk  all  alone  by  the  light  of  the  moon ; 
The  planets  all  shone,  for  the  heavens  were  clear, 
And  I  felt  round  the  heart,  oh,  most  mightily  queer. 

Three  years  have  gone  by,  and  I've  not  got  a  dollar, 
Evelina  still  lives  in  the  green  grassy  holler, 
Although  I  am  fated  to  marry  her  never, 
I'll  love  her,  I'm  sure,  for  ever  and  ever. 


=JJ 


52 


Weep,  Pompey,  Weep. 

On  a  lone  barren  shore  war  de  wild  roaring  billow, 

Beat  hard  on  de  beach  and  de  loud  winds  do  rave, 
My  Mary  lies  still  wid  de  earth  for  a  pillow, 

And  fond  weeping  Pompey  leans  ober  her  grave  ; 
De  lightnings  may  flash  and  de  loud  thunders  roll, 

Poor  Mary  she  hears  dem  not,  she  am  free  from  all 
pain; 
She  am  dead,  and  she's  buried,  and  her  beautiful  soul 

Am  up  in  de  clouds,  and  dey  dar  will  remain. 
chohus. 
De  lightnings  may  flash  and  de  loud  thunders  roll, 

Poor  Mary  she  hears  dem  not,  she  am  free  from  all 
pain; 
She  am  dead,  and  she's  buried,  and  her  beautiful  soul 

Am  up  in  de  clouds,  and  dey  dar  will  remain- 
Though  she's  dead  and  she's  buried  de  grave  can  not 
hold  her, 

If  you'll  list  to  me,  darkies,  I'll  tell  you  why : 
Last  night  in  my  cabin  when  it  rained  and  it  thunder, 

So  dark  war  de  heavens,  so  black  war  de  sky, 
De  floor  did  open  and  Mary  rose  up  dar, 

She  looked  in  my  face  and  she  dese  words  did  say, 
"  Weep,  Pompey,  weep,  for  by  your  jealous  deeds  see, 

My  death  you  have  caused,  but  now  you  are  free." 

CHORUS. 

De  lightnings  may  flash  and  de  loud  thunders  roll, 
Poor  Mary  she  hears  dem  not,  she  am  free  from  all 
pain  ; 

She  am  dead,  and  she's  buried,  and  her  beautiful  soul 
Am  up  in  de  clouds,  and  dey  dare  will  remain. 


53 


"Mother,  Will  Our  Charley  Come?" 

TV/to  will  care  for  Mother  now  ? 


Mother,  I  am  very  weary, 

Weary  of  the  day  now  done  ; 
Mother,  will  you  tell  me  truly, 

Will  our  Charley  ever  come  ? 
Will  he  come  to  bless  us,  mother  ? 
Bless  you  for  your  tender  care  ? 
Tell  me,  mother,  for  I'm  waiting, 

Will  our  Charley  meet  us  there  ? 
CaaoKUS — Mother,  I  am  very  weary, 

Weaiy  of  the  day  now  done ; 
Mother,  will  you  tell  me  truly, 
Will  our  Charley  ever  come  ? 

Tis  just  two  long  weary  years 

Since  he  left  us  for  the  war  ;  ~ 

Will  his  being  a  brave  soldier  * 

Entrance  into  heaven  bar  2 
Will  he  not  come  to  see  me, 

Ere  I  leave  this  world  of  care  ? 
Mother,  I  have  prayed  for  Charley, 

And  I  know  he'll  meet  us  there  I 
Chorus — Mother,  I  am  very  weary,  eta 

Draw  more  closely  to  me,  mother  ; 

Death  is  coming,  coming  now ; 
But  I  do  not  fear  him,  mother, 

Shining  bands  shall  deck  my  brow 
And,  dear  mother,  if  our  Charley 

Should  return  for  you  to  care, 
Tell  him  I  have  prayed  long  for  him, 

And  I  know  he'll  meet  me  there  ! 

Chorus — Mother,  I  am  very  weary,  etc. 


54 


Our  Willie  Dear  is  Dying. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
663  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Our  Willie  clear  is  dying,  love, 

And  thou  art  far  away ; 
His  little  breath  is  sighing  love, 

And  can  not  last  till  day ; 
To-night  while  sitting  by  his  side, 

I  heard  him  speak  of  thee  ; 
*  My  father's  comin  home,"  he  said, 

"  With  presents  bright  for  me." 
Chorus — Come  with  an  eagle's  flight, 

Come  like  a  beam  of  light, 

Come,  love,  come  home  to-night, 

Our  Willie  dear  is  dying. 

His  blooming  cheeks  have  faded,  love, 

The  light  has  left  his  brow ; 
His  eyes  are  dimmed  and  shaded,  love, 

You  would  not  know  him  now ; 
And  when  the  fever  rages, 

With  a  sad  and  restless  moan, 
His  feeble  voice  then  warns  us, 

There  is  death  within  that  tone. 

No  grief  that  e'er  befel  me,  love, 

Could  cause  this  heart  such  pain ; 
Though  neighbors  kindly  tell  me,  love, 

He  may  get  well  again ; 
But  a  mother's  heart  is  watchful, 

All  the  life  has  left  his  eyes ; 
Oh,  come  to-night,  and  weep  with  me, 

Before  our  darling  dies. 


55 


The  White  Cockade. 

My  love  was  born  in  Aberdeen, 
The  bonniest  lad  that  e'er  was  seen ; 
But  now  he  makes  our  hearts  fu'  6ad, 
He  takes  the  field  wi'  his  white  cockade. 

On,  he's  a  ranting,  roving  lad, 

He  is  a  brisk  an'  a  bonnie  lad ; 

Betide  what  may,  I  will  be  wed, 

And  follow  the  boy  wi'  the  white  cockade. 

I'll  sell  my  rock,  my  reel,  my  bow, 
My  gude  gray  mare  and  hawkit  cow, 
To  buy  myself  a  tartan  plaid, 
To  follow  the  boy  wi'  the  white  cockade. 


An  Old  Man  would  be  Wooing. 

An  old  man  would  be  wooing 

A  damsel  gay  and  young, 
But  she,  when  he  was  sueing, 
For  ever  laughed  and  sung : 
An  old  man,  an  old  man  will  never  do  for  me, 
For  May  and  December  can  never  agree* 

She  sang  till  he  waa  dozing — 

A  youth  by  fortune  blest, 
When  Guardy's  eves  were  closing, 

Her  hand  delighted  pressed. 
An  old  man,  etc. 

Then  kneeling,  trembling,  creeping, 

I  vow  'twas  much  amiss, 
He  watched  the  old  man  sleeping, 

And  sofliy  stole  a  kiss. 

An  old  man,  etc. 


56 


Oh,  why  am  I  so  Happy? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
4S1  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  why  am  I  so  happy? 

Why  these  feelings  of  delight  ? 
And  why  does  gladness  cheer  me  ? 

Why  every  thing  so  bright  ? 
Tis  my  fathers  voice  and  brother's  smile. 

My  sister's  fond  caress, 
My  mother's  gentle  pleading  prayer, 
Her  little  boy  to  blecs. 
Chorus — Why,  ah,  why  am  I  so  happy? 
Why  these  feelings  of  delight  ? 
Oh,  why  does  gladness  beam  around  ? 
Why  every  thing  so  bright  ? 

I  see  the  angels  smiling 

When  at  my  father's  side, 
And  glowing  scenes  of  pleasure 

Before  my  vision  glide  ; 
Oh,  how  pleasant,  too,  the  quiet  eve, 

I  feel  so  full  of  joy, 
Whene'er  he  breathes  the  gentle  prayer 

To  guide  his  little  boy.  (Chorus.) 

Sometimes,  when  bending  o'er  me 

I've  heard  my  mother  sigh, 
And  then  I've  seen  the  tear-drop 

Stand  trembling  in  her  eye ; 
While  she  said  she  dreamed  of  future  days, 

Of  bliss  without  alloy, 
Aoid  prayed  that  heaven  would  shower  down 

Kich  blessings  on  her  boy.  (Chorus.) 


57 


I'd  Dream  Forever  More. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Pnhlisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

At  summer's  eve,  when  all  is  still, 
I  wander  to  the  rill, 
AVhere  birds  around,  like  spirits  blest, 
Flit  on  and  are  at  rest ; 
I  sit  beneath  our  trysting  tree, 
And  dream,  sweet  love,  of  thee  ; 
And  here,  upon  the  mimic  shore, 
I'd  dream  forever  more. 
Chorus — -I'd  dream,  I'd  dream, 

I'd  dream  forever  more  ; 

Yes,  here,  upon  the  mimic  shore, 

I'd  dream  forever  more. 

And  as  the  waters  seem  to  sing, 

With  low,  sweet  murmuring, 

I  watch  the  twilight  shades  appear, 

And  think  that  thou  art  near ; 

'Tis  all  a  dream  of  love  to  me, 

A  dream,  sweet  love,  of  thee  ; 

And  of  the  happy  days  before 

I'd  dream  forever  more.  (Chorus.) 

The  night  floats  on — o'er  yonder  hill 

I  hear  the  gushing  rill, 

In  distant  murmurs  soft  and  low, 

As  if  to  bid  me  go  ; 

I  linger  still  beside  the  tree, 

And  fondly  dream  of  thee  ; 

Oh,  thus  upon  the  mimic  shore, 

I'd  dream  forever  more.  (Chorus.) 


58 

I  know  a  Pretty  Widow. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
66*  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

She  is  modest,  but  not  bashful, 

Free  and  easy,  but  not  bold, 
Like  an  apple,  ripe  and  mellow, 

Not  too  young  and  not  too  old ; 
Half  inviting,  half  repulsive, 

Now  advancing  and  now  shy, 
There  is  mischief  in  her  dimple, 

There  is  danger  in  her  eye ; 
She  has  studied  human  nature, 

She  is  schooled  in  all  her  arts, 
She  has  taken  her  diploma 

As  the  mistress  of  all  hearts  ; 
She  can  tell  the  very  moment 

When  to  sigh  and  when  to  smile ; 
Oh,  a  maid  is  sometimes  charming, 

But  a  widow  all  the  while. 
Are  you  sad  ?     How  very  serious 

Her  handsome  face  becomes  ; 
Are  you  angry  ?     She  is  wretched, 

Lonely,  friendless,  tearful,  dumb ; 
Are  you  mirthful  ?     How  her  laughter, 

Silver  sounding,  will  ring  out ; 
She  can  lure  and  catch  and  play  you, 

As  the  angler  does  the  trout ; 
Ye  old  bachelors  of  forty, 

Who  have  grown  so  bald  and  wise, 
Young  Americans  of  twenty, 

With  the  love  locks  in  your  eyes, 
You  may  practice  all  the  lessons 

Taught  by  Cupid  since  the  fall, 
But  I  know  a  little  widow 

Who  would  win  and  fool  you  all. 


59 


Well  light  for  Uncle  Abe. 

Copied  by  permission  ofOLivxRDrrsoN&  Co.,  MnsicPublishert, 
377  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Way  down  in  old  Yarginni, 

I  suppose  you  all  do  know, 
They  have  tried  to  bust  the  Union, 

But  they  find  it  is  no  go. 
The  Yankee  boys  are  starting  out 

De  Union  for  to  sabe, 
And  we're  going  down  to  Washington, 

To  fight  for  Uncle  Abe, 
Chorus — Rip,  rap,  flip,  flap, 

Strap  your  knapsacks  on  your  back, 
For  we're  a  gwine  to  Washington 

To  fight  for  Uncle  Abe. 

The  season  now  is  coming, 

When  the  roads  begin  to  dry; 
Soon  the  army  of  the  Potomac 

Will  make  the  rebels  fly. 
For  General  Grant  he's  the  man 

The  Union  for  to  sabe, 
Oh,  Hail  Columbia's  right  side  up, 

And  so's  your  Uncle  Abe. 

You  may  talk  of  Southern  chivalry, 

And  cotton  being  king, 
But  I  guess  before  the  war  is  done 

You'll  think  another  thing. 
They  say  that  recognition 

Will  the  rebel  country  sabe, 
But  Jolinny  Bull  and  Mister  France 

Are  'fraid  of  Uncle  Abe. 


60 


My  Wife  is  a  Most  Knowing  Woman. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 
My  wife  is  a  most  knowing  woman, 

She  always  is  finding  me  out ; 
She  never  will  he%r  explanations, 

But  instantly  puts  me  to  rout ; 
There's  no  use  to  try  to  deceive  her, 

If  out  with  my  friends,  night  or  day, 
In  the  most  inconceivable  manner 

She  tells  where  I've  been  right  away ; 
She  says  that  I'm  "  mean  "  and  "  inhuman," 
Oh,  my  wife  is  a  most  knowing  woman. 

She  would  have  been  hung  up  for  witchcraft, 

If  she  had  lived  sooner,  I  know, 
There's  no  hiding  any  thing  from  her, 

She  knows  what  I  do — where  I  go  ; 
And  if  I  come  in  after  midnight 

And  say,  "  I  have  been  to  the  lodge," 
Oh,  she  says,  while  she  flies  in  a  fury, 

"  Now,  don't  think  to  play  such  a  dodge ! 
It's  all  very  fine,  but  won't  do,  man," 
Oh,  my  wife  is  a  most  knowing  woman. 

Not  often  I  go  out  to  dinner 

And  come  home  a  little  "  so-so," 
I  try  to  creep  up  through  the  hall-way, 

As  still  as  a  mouse,  on  tip-toe ; 
She's  sure  to  be  waiting  up  for  me, 

And  then  comes  a  nice  little  scene : 
"  What,  you  tell  me  you're  sober,  you  wretch,  you, 

Now  don't  think  that  I  am  so  green  ! 
My  life  is  quite  worn  out  with  you,  man," 
Oh,  my  wife  is  a  most  knowing  woman  ! 


61 


Yes,  I  must  give  all  of  my  friends  up, 

If  I  would  live  happy  and  quiet ; 
One  might  as  well  be  'neath  a  tombstone 

As  live  in  confusion  and  riot ; 
This  life  we  all  know  is  a  short  one, 

While  some  tongues  are^long,  heaven  knows, 
And  a  miserable  life  is  a  husband's, 

Who  numbers  his  wife  with  his  foes, 
I'll  stay  at  home  now  like  a  true  man, 
For  my  wife  is  a  most  knowing  woman. 


The  Blind  Boy. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
638  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  tell  me  the  form  of  the  soft  summer  air, 

That  tosses  so  gently  the  curls  of  my  hair  ? 

It  breathes  on  my  lips,  and  it  fans  my  warm  cheek,  . 

Yet  gives  me  no  answer,  though  often  I  speak ; 

I  feel  it  play  o'er  me,  refreshing  and  kind, 

Yet  I  can  not  touch  it — I'm  blind,  oh,  I'm  blind. 

And  music,  what  is  it  ?  and  where  does  it  dwell  ? 
I  sink  and  I  mount  with  its  cadence  and  swell, 
While  touched  to  my  heart  with  its  deep,  thrilling  strain, 
Till  pleasure,  till  pleasure,  is  turning  to  pain ; 
What  brightness  of  hue  is  with  music  combined  ? 
Will  any  one  tell  me  ?     I'm  blind,  oh,  I'm  blind. 

The  perfumes  of  the  flowers  that  are  hovering  nigh, 
What  are  they  ?     On  what  kind  of  wings  do  they  fly  ? 
Are  not  they  sweet  angels  who  come  to  delight 
A  poor  little  boy,  that  knows  not  of  sight  ? 
The  sun,  moon  and  stars  are  to  me  undefined, 
Oh,  tell  me  what  light  is !     I'm  blind,  oh,  I'm  blind  I 


62 


We'll  Have  a  Little  Dance  To-Night. 

I'll  sing  you  now  dis  good  old  song 

And  then  I'll  sing  another, 
Old  massa's  gwine  this  arternoon, 

To  call  upon  his  brudder ; 
Den  wait  a  little  while,  my  boys, 

Till  he  gets  out  ob  sight, 
We'll  drop  de  shovel  and  de  hoe, 
Spoken — What  for  ? 

To  have  a  little  dance  to-night. 

CHORUS. 

We'll  have  a  little  dance  to-night,  boys, 
To-night,  boys,  to-night  boys, 
We'll  have  a  little  dance  to-night,  boys, 
And  dance  by  the  light  ob  de  moon. 
I  like  de  cambric  handkerchief, 

I  lik  de    bever  hat ; 
Oh,  hand  me  down  my  high-heel  boots, 

Likewise  my  silk  cravat. 
De  niggers  dey  are  grinning, 

And  dar  teeth  look  very  white, 
We'll  go  across  de  mountain,  boys, 
Spoken — What  for  ? 

To  have  a  little  dance  to-night. 
I  rises  at  de  broke  ob  day, 

To  take  my  morning  walk, 
I  meet  my  lubly  Julia, 

And  dis  de  way  we  talk : 
I  says,  "  You  are  my  own  true  love, 

You  are  my  heart's  delight, 
Will  you  go  ober  de  ribber,  dis  evening  ?" 
Spoken — What  for  ? 

To  have  a  little  dance  to-night. 


63 

A  Song  for  the  Times. 

Copied  by  permission  of  W* .  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 
,  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  the  great  commander, 
;  lie's  second  to  none  but  Alexander  ; 
l  Then  U.  S.  G's,  the  man  for  me, 
|  Three  cheer9  for  your  old  Uncle  Sam  ! 

He  came  from  the  West  with  the  spangled  banner, 

A  mudsill  and  by  his  trade  a  tanner. 

CHOKCS. 

;  Good-by  Chase,  you'll  lose  the  race, 
He  can  distance  Abraham. 

'.  U.  stands  for  uncle,  U.  S.  for  Uncle  Sam, 
But  U.  S.  G.,  it  just  suits  me,  or  any  other  man  ; 
He  dug  a  trench  at  Vicksburg,  and  sure  as  you're  alive, 
He'll  dig  one  more,  'round  "White-house  door  in  eighte«n 

sixty-five. 
At  Donelson,  'mid  the  wintry  weather, 
He  gave  them  a  smell  of  Yankee  leather , 
There  Floyd  and  Buckner  caught  a  fanning, 
Their  rebel  hides  wasn't  worth  the  tanning. 
Grant  marched  his  men,  worn-out  and  jaded 
To  Vicksburg,  where  he  was  blockaded  ; 
He  dug  a  canal,  (none  dare  dispute  him,) 
The  river  would  not  rise  to  suit  him. 
Around  the  town  Grant  did  assemble, 
The  "  butternuts  "  did  quake  and  tremble, 
Then  Pemberton's  rebs.  did  surrender 
To  Grant :  the  Union's  brave  defender ! 
At  Chattanooga  Bragg  did  face  him, 
Little  thinking  Grant  would  lace  him ; 

1  He's  packed  in  the  vat — where  Grant  will  Boak  him, 

|  There  let  him  lay  :  may  the  tan-bark  choko  him  ! 


64 


Here's  a  health,  to  the  pet  of  the  Yankee  nation, 
The  next  overseer  of  Sam's  plantation  ; 
Three  cheers  for  Grant  and  his  men  together, 
And  nine  for  his  sole  and  upper-leather  I 


Molly  Dear,  Good-Night. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Ftbth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publish-** 
6(>3  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Molly,  dear,  I  can  not  linger  ; 

Let  me  soon  be  gone  ; 
Time  now  points  with  warning  finger 

Toward  the  coming  dawn. 
When  the  noisy,  weary  day, 

Shall  have  toiled  its  cares  away, 
To  thy  side  again  I'll  stray ; 

Then,  Molly  dear,  good-night ! 

Smile  away  the  coming  morrow 

Till  my  sure  return  ; 
Why  should  fond  hearts  part  in  sorrow  ? 

Grief  too  soon  we  learn. 
Hours  of  bliss  must  come  and  go, 

Constant  pleasures  none  can  know, 
Joy  must  have  its  ebb  and  flow ; 

Then,  Molly  dear,  good-night. 

On  thy  form,  with  beauty  laden, 

All  my  thoughts  will  be ; 
Purer  love  ne'er  blessed  a  maiden, 

Than  I  hold  for  thee  ; 
While  thine  eyes  in  beauty  glance, 

While  thy  smiles  my  aoul  entrance, 
Still  the  fleeting  hours  advance  ; 

Then,  Molly  dear,  good-night 


BEADLE'S 


DIME  2 


Song  Book 

No.  14. 

COLLECTION'  OF  NEW  AND  POPULAR 

COMIC  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


3STE  W  YORK : 
BEADLE  AND  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 

118  WILLIAM  STREET. 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE. 

The  music,  with  pianoforte  arrangement,  of  any  of  the 
songs  in  Beadle's  Dime  Song  Books,  can  be  obtained  of,  or 
ordered  through,  any  regular  News  or  Periodical  dealer;  or 
by  forwarding  twenty-five  cents,  direct  to  the  publishers, 
whose  names  and  address  are  attached  to  many  of  the  pieces, 
the  music  will  be  sent  by  mail,  post-paid. 

Beadle  and  Company. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864, 

By  BEADLE  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 

for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


CONTENTS  No.   14. 


PAGB. 

A  sweet  brier  rose  is  mv  Mollie,  12 

All  hail  to  Ulysses,  - 11 

Angels  listen  when  she  speaks,    -  7 

Beautiful  child  of  song, 43 

Better  times  are  coming, 21 

Bright-eyed  Maggie, 31 

Brother,* tell  me^of  the  battle,      ....  48 

Carroty  top, 26 

Columbia's  guardian  angel,  52 

Corporal  Schnapps, 6 

De  day  ob  liberty's  comin', 56 

Den  you'll  remember  me, 43 

Down  by  the  river, 36 

44  Farmer  Stubbs'  "  visit  to  New  York  City,   -        -  62 

Five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  61 

I  can  not  bid  thee  go,  my  boy,        -  0*2 

I'd  choose  to  be  a  baby,       -        -  *     -        -        -  50 

I'll  love  thee  as  long  as  I  live,         -        -        -        -  58 

I'm  dying  far  from  those  I  love,  44 

I'm  quite  a  ladies'  man, 19 

I  never  had  a  beau, 23 

In  this  old  chair  my  father  sat,        -        -        -        -  58 

I'se  on  de  way,     - 51 

It's  no  use  teasinir  Pollv, 53 

Just  after  the  battle,     - 20 

Katie  Lee  and  Willie  Gray, 46 

Kissing  on  the  slv, 14 

Little  Alice,     - 57 

Lottie  in  the  lane, 9 

Man- Fay, 42 

Maudie  Moore, 35 

Mermaid's  song, -        -  55 

Mother's  gentle  voice, 59 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw,  -        -        -        -  41 


iv 


CONTENTS   NO.    14 


PAGS. 

People  will  talk, 40 

"  Sing  softly,  love," 18 

Softly  now,  tenderly,  lift  him  with  care.      -        -  5 

Stand  up  for  Uncle  Sam,  my  boys,  -               -        -  25 

Sweet  little  Nell, 15 

The  Corporal's  musket, 16 

The  courtin'  time, 10 

The  daughter's  dream, 10 

The  maids  of  dear  Columbia,      -        ...  87 

The  minstrel's  tear, 29 

The  music  store  window, 54 

The  old  brown  cot,  -       -        -        -    ■    -        -        -  13 

The  old  house  by  the  hill, 8 

The  old  man's  reverie, 39 

The  old  sexton, 49 

The  sands  of  Dee, 27 

Uncle  Ben,  the  Yankee, 45 

u  Uncle  Sam's  funeral," 28 

Washington  and  Lincoln, 34 

When  will  he  come  back  to  me,     -        -        -        -  24 

When  the  moon  with  glory  brightens,        -        •  33 

When  will  my  darling  boy  return  ?        -        -        -  38 

Whoever  can  he  be  ? 30 

Will  you  come  to  meet  me,  darling  ?               -        -  32 

Will  you  wed  me  now  I'm  lame,  lore  ?       -       -  GO 


BEADLE'S 

DIME  SONG  BOOK  No.  14. 


Softly  now,  Tenderly. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditsok  <fc  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  W  ashington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Softly  now,  tenderly !  lift  kirn  with  care, 

This  is  a  hero  whose  pale  form  }-e  bear. 

Raise  that  right  arm  of  his  up  to  his  side  ; 

Look  here,  that's  where  the  ball  struck  when  he  died  ! 

Brash  back  the  hair  from  his  pain-moistened  brow ; 

Cold  enough,  still  enough,  white  enough  now. 

Lay  his  cap  o'er  it — gently — that's  right, 

Cover  his  dead  eyes  away  from  the  light. 

Loosen  his  sword-belt — there,  take  it  away  ! 
No  blade  is  sheathed  in  the  scabbard  to-day. 
Here,  throw  this  flag  o'er  his  poor  wounded  breast ; 
Wrapped  in  its  folds  we  will  lay  him  to  rest. 
Only  this  morning,  poor  fellow,  he  stood 
Smiling  in  front,  gallant,  noble,  and  good, 
Cheering  his  comrades,  himself  at  their  head, 
Now,  they  have  killed  him,  we  bear  him  here,  dead ! 

Some  heart  is  longing  and  hoping  for  him  ; 
Some  eyes  must  weep  till  their  light  has  grown  dim ; 
Some  hand  shall  never  more  meet  touch  of  his  : 
Heaven  curse  the  traitors  whose  work  is  like  this ! 
There,  lay  him  down  in  his  lone  hero  grave — 
Throw  the  earth  tenderly  over  the  brave. 
Xow,  leave  him  sleeping,  'tis  all  we  can  do — 
Love's  work  is  o'er  for  him,  life's  journey's  through  ! 


Corporal  Schnapps, 

-Copied  by  permission  of   Root   &  Cady,   Music   Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Mine  heart  ish  proken  into  little  pits, 

I  tells  you,  friend,  what  for ; 
Mine  schweetheart,  von  coot  patriotic  kirl, 

She  trives  me  off  init  der  war. 
I  fights  for  her  te  patties  of  te  flag — 

I  schtrikes  so  prave  as  I  can ; 
Put  now  long  time  she  nix  remempers  me, 

And  coes  mit  another  man. 
Chorus — Ah,  mine  fraulein  ! 

You  ish  so  ferry  unkind  ! 
You  coes  mit  Hans  to  Zhermany  to  live, 
And  leaves  poor  Schnapps  pehind. 
I  march  all  tay,  no  matter  if  der  schtorm 

Pe  worse  ash  Moses'  flood ; 
I  lays  all  night,  mine  head  upon  a  schtump, 

And  sinks  to  schleep  in  der  mud. 
7)er  nightmare  comes — I  catch  him  ferrv  pad — 

I  treams  I  schleeps  mit  der  ghost ; 
I  wakes  next  morning  frozen  in  der  cround, 

So  schtiff  as  von  schtone  post.        (Chorus.) 
They  kives  me  hart-pread,  tougher  as  a  rock — 

It  almost  preaks  mine  zhaw ; 
I  schplits  him  sometimes  mit  an  iron  wedge 

And  cuts  him  up  mit  a  saw. 
They  kives  me  peef,  so  ferry,  ferry  salt, 

Like  Sodom's  wife,  you  know  ; 
I  surely  dinks  dey  puts  him  in  de  prine 

Von  huntred  years  aco.  (Chorus.) 

Py'n  py  we  takes  von  city  in  der  South— 
We  schtays  there  von  whole  year ; 


I  kits  me  sour-crout  much  as  I  can  eat 

And  plenty  loccar  pier. 
I  meets  von  laty  repel  in  der  schtreet, 

So  handsome  effer  I  see ; 
I  makes  to  her  von  ferry  gallant  pow — 

Put  ah  !  she  schpits  on  me  !  (Chorus.) 

"  Hart  times  !"  you  say,  "  what  for  you  volunteer  ?" 

I  tolt  you,  friend,  what  for  : 
Mine  schweetheart,  von  coot  patriotic  kirl, 

She  trove  me  off  mit  der  war. 
Alas  !  alas  !  mine  pretty  little  von 

Will  schmile  no  more  on  me  ; 
Put  schtill  I  fights  der  patties  of  te  flag 

To  set  mine  countries  free.  (Chorus.) 


Angels  Listen  when  She  Speaks. 

Low  her  voice  is,  soft  and  kind, 

Sorrow  ne'er  appeals  in  vain ; 
She  can  soothe  the  troubled  mind, 

Bid  despair  to  hope  again  ; 
She  is  good,  and  kind,  and  true, 

Her  the  weeping  mourner  seeks, 
Holy  words  her  lips  bedew, 

Angels  listen  when  she  speaks ! 

From  her  lips  but  words  of  truth, 

Fall  like  manna  from  above, 
All  the  innocence  of  }*outh, 

All  the  strength  of  perfect  love  ; 
Ne'er  a  thought  unkind,  unjust, 

Brings  the  rose-tint  to  her  cheeks, 
Still  she  bids  us  hope  and  trust : 

Angels  listen  when  she  speaks ! 


The  Old  House  by  the  Hill. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
647  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

My  dear  native  village, 

I'll  speak  of  thy  worth, 
'Tis  the  home  of  my  childhood, 

The  place,  of  my  birth  ; 
Thou'rt  dear  to  this  heart, 

And  roam  where  I  will, 
I  ne'er  can  forget 

The  old  house  by  the  hill. 

How  little  I  thought, 

When  in  peace  I  lived  there, 
Of  the  world's  checkered  scenes, 

Its  toil  and  its  care  ; 
Time  has  taught  me  the  change, 

But  memory  will 
Look  back  with  regret, 

For  the  house  by  the  hill. 

'Tis  lost  to  me  now, 

And  strangers  live  there  ; 
The  loved  ones  are  gone 

To  memory  dear. 
But  the  bands  of  affection 

Cling  tenderly  still, 
To  the  mother  that  died 

In  the  house  by  the  hilL 

I  oft  breathe  a  prayer 

Yery  dear  to  my  heart, 
When  the  great  change  shall  come, 

When  my  soul  must  depart, 


9 


Let  me  lie  by  her  side 
So  calm  and  so  still, 

In  the  churchyard  that's  near 
The  hoflse  by  the  hill. 


Lottie  in  the  Lane. 

Copied  by  permission    of  Root   &  Cady,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  sun  was  going  down  to  rest, 

Behind  the  woody  hill ; 
The  sky  was  all  in  crimson  drest, 

And  silent  was  the  mill ; 
Upon  the  breeze  a  gentle  sound 

Was  wafted  o'er  the  plain, 
And  soon  with  fair}'  step  and  bound, 

Came  Lottie  clown  the  lane. 

The  curls  beneath  her  dainty  hood, 

Came  peeping  to  the  light ; 
They  were  like  golden  buds,  that  would 

In  beauty  take  their  flight ; 
Her  snowy  arm  she  placed  in  mine, 

And  past  the  fields  of  grain, 
I  wandered  in  a  dream  divine, 

With  Lottie  in  the  lane. 

I  see  her  face  before  me  now, 

In  youthful  glow  and  pride  ; 
I  kiss  again  her  modest  brow, 

And  linger  by  her  side ; 
Her  smiles  are  near  where'er  I  rove, 

And  when  each  hope  shall  wane, 
I'll  bless  the  eve  I  won  my  love 

Sweet  Lottie  in  the  lane. 


10 


The  Daughter's  Dream. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher*. 
563  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  have  been  dreaming,  mother, 

As  on  thy  breast  I  laid, 
And  saw  the  glittering  halo, 

That  fancy  wild  displayed. 
I  saw  dear  faces,  mother, 

They  smiled  in  happy  times, 
The  home  we  loved  so  dearly, 

I  heard  the  village  chimes. 
I  saw  the  churchyard,  mother, 

Its  ivy-crested  tower, 
Its  mournful  bell,  I  heard  it, 

That  tolled  in  sorrow's  hour. 
Shades  of  the  past,  dear  mother, 

Of  those  that  long  are  gone, 
Were  flitting  round  me  ever, 

How  cheerless  and  how  wan ! 
I  wandered  toward,  dear  mother, 

The  wild  and  beaten  shore, 
Nor  heeded  I  the  billow, 

Its  loud  and  sullen  roar  ; 
'Till  something  snatched  me  from  th*e, 

Rude  Avaters  round  me  prest. 
Some  tender  hand  awoke  me, 

I  sobbed  upon  thy  breast. 


The  Courtm'  Time. 

Our  Jean  likes  the  morning  when  milking  \ht  ky& 
And  May  thinks  the  noontide  gangs  merrily  by ; 
But  nane  o'  them  a'  are  sae  saft  an'  serene, 
As  the  hours  when  the  lads  come  a  courtm'  at  e'er^ 


11 


The  sun  quietly  slips  o'er  the  tap  o'  the  hill, 
An'  the  plover  its  gloamiu'  jang  whistles  ftf  shrill ; 
Syne  dimness  comes  glidin'  where  daylight  has  been, 
And  the  dew  brings  the  lads  who  come  courtin'  at  e'en. 
A  courtin'  at  e'en,  come  a  courtin'  at  e'en, 
An'  the  dew  brings  the  lads  who  come  courtin'  at  e'en. 
"When  men-folk  are  crackin'  o'  ousen  and  lands, 
And  the  kimmers  at  spinnin'  are  trying  their  hands, 
I  see  at  the  window  the  face  o'  a  frien', 
An'  I  ken  that  my  Joe's  come  a  courtin'  at  e'en. 
A  courtin'  at  e'en,  come  a  courtin'  at  e'en, 
An'  I  ken  that  my  Joe's  come  a  courtin'  at  e'en- 


All  hail  to  Ulysses! 

Copied  by  permission  of   Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

All  hail  to  Ulysses,  the  patriot's  friend ! 

The  hero  of  battles  renowned ; 
He  has  won  the  bright  laurel,  its  garland  he  wears, 

And  his  fame  through  the  world  we  will  sound. 

CHORUS. 

Yes,  hail,  patriot  soldier !  we'll  welcome  you  home, 

When  strife  and  rebellion  are  o'er  ; 
When  terror  shall  cease,  and  our  land  be  at  peace, 

And  the  war  shall  be  heard  of  no  more. 

When  treason  her  banner  unfurled  in  the  land, 

To  liberty  then  he  was  true  ; 
On  his  war-horse  her  legions  he  met  in  the  field, 

And  defended  the  Red,  White  and  Blue. 
Then  hail  to  Ulysses,  the  noble  and  brave  t 

In  trial,  the  veteran  so  true ; 
Yes,  in  honor  we  hail  him,  the  champion  of  right, 

And  the  friend  of  the  Red,  White  and  Blue. 


12 


A  Sweet  Brier  Eose  is  my  Mollie, 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Son,  Music  Publishers, 
543*Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

A  sweet  brier  rose  is  my  Mollie, 

Running  wild  o'er  hill  and  dale, 
She  lives  in  the  valley  yonder, 

Brushed  by  the  soft  southern  gale ; 
Her  heart  is  like  the  clover, 

A  blossom  sweet-scented  and  fair, 
She  knowrs  no  guile,  though  a  rover, 

Like  the  birds,  thro'  the  soft,  summer  air. 
Chokus — A  sweet  brier  rose  is  my  Mollie, 
Running  wild  o'er  hill  and  dale, 
She  lives  in  the  valley  yonder, 
Brushed  by  the  soft  southern  gale. 

Oh,  her  ways  are  modest  and  wdnning, 

As  flowrers  that  bloom  in  the  dell, 
Her  cheeks  they  are  flushed  with  beauty, 

Like  a  bud  just  bursting  its  shell ; 
Her  voice  is  like  the  music 

®f  the  far-off  rippling  streams, 
She  soars  with  the  lark  at  morning, 

From  her  nest  of  light  rosy  dreams. 

A  tender  vine  is  my  Mollie, 

With  grace  ever  twining  round  me, 
Her  spirit  is  buoyant  and  happy, 

And  nature's  owrn  child  is  she  ; 
Like  waves  of  the  ocean  she  frolics, 

This  sweet  brier  rose  of  my  own  ; 
To  know  her  is  truly  to  love  her, 

This  maid  of  my  woodland  home. 


13 


The  Old  Brown  Cot. 

Copied  by  permission   of  Root   &  Cady,    Music  Publisher* 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Among  the  scenes  to  memory  dear, 

To  which  my  fancy  oft  returns, 
And  for  whose  long-lost  days  of  joy 

My  spirit  in  its  sadness  yearns, 
There's  none  wliich- seems  so  dear  to  me 

As  that  where  passed  life's  early  morn ; 
There's  none  for  which  I  sigh  so  oft, 
As  for  the  cot  where  I  was  born. 
Chorus — The  old  brown  cot,  the  low  brown  cot, 
The  moss-grown  cot,  beneath  the  hill  •, 
Tho'  years  have  passed  since  I  was  there, 
I  love  it,  oh,  I  love  it  still ! 

It  stood  beside  the  running  brook 

Whose  waters  turned  the  noisy  mill, 
And  close  beneath  the  tall  old  oak 

That  nodded  on  the  sloping  hill. 
The  woodbine  creeping  o'er  the  walls, 

The  sunshine  on  the  grassy  plot, 
How  beautiful  were  they  to  me, 

When  home  was  in  that  old  brown  cot. 

Tho'  I  may  view  the  fairest  lands 

On  which  the  sun  in  glory  beams, 
And  dwell  in  climes  more  beautiful 

Than  poets  visit  in  their  dreams, 
Still  will  affection  linger  round 

That  loved  and  consecrated  spot, 
And  tears  will  fall  as  I  go  back 

To  childhood  and  the  old  brown  cot. 


14 


Kissing  on  the  Sly. 

Copied  bj-  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

His  manly  whiskers  swept  lier  cheek, 

She  uttered  no  reply  ; 
How  couid  she  part  her  lips  to  speak, 

While  kissing  on  the  sly  ? 
There's  such  a  sum  of  smacking  bliss 

That  Croesus  could  not  buy, 
The  honeyed  worth  of  one  sweet  kiss, 
That's  taken  on  the  sly. 
Chorus — Oh,  this  kissing  on  the  sly ! 
This  kissing  on  the  sly ! 
This  wooing,  winning  style  of  sinning, 
Kissing  on  the  sly. 


The  maiden  meek,  one  kiss  received, 

Demurely  winked  her  eye, 
And  with  the  air  of  one  bereaved, 

She  heaved  a  heavy  sigh  ! 
Again  that  wayward  whisker  pressed 
Her  cheek — she  breathed,  oh,  my! 
How  grateful  to  the  burdened  breast, 
This  kissing  on  the  sly  ! 
Chorus — Oh,  this  kissing  on  the  sly  ! 
This  kissing  on  the  sly ! 
Downright  malicious,  e'en  malicious, 
Kissing  on  the  sly ! 

Though  rigid  rule  declare  the  deed 

To  be  a  crime  so  high, 
No  lover  dare  deny  the  deed 

Of  kissing  on  the  sly ! 


15 


Tho'  pas  and  mas  berate  and  prate, 

And  'gainst  the  practice  cry, 
The  custom  don't  a  bit  abate 
Of  kissing  on  the  sly. 
Cnoiurs — Oh,  this  kissing  on  the  sly ! 
This  kissing  on  the  sly  ! 
This  whole-soul,  thrilling,  trouble  killing, 
Kissing  on  the  sly ! 


Sweet  Little  Nell, 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481* Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  talk  not  of  daisies  and  violets  of  spring, 
Of  rose-buds  and  dew-drops,  or  any  such  thing, 
For  the  loveliest  floweret  that  dwells  in  the  dell, 
Is  the  dear  bonnie  maiden  they  call  little  Nell. 
Sweet  little  Nell,  you  are  dearer  to  me, 
Than  the  dew  to  the  rose,  or  the  rose  to  the  bee, 
Charming  Nell,  fairy  Nell,  happy,  smiling  and  true, 
Sweet  flower  of  the  hill-side,  I  worship  but  you. 

Her  smile  is  so  sweet,  and  her  eyes  are  so  bright, 
That  she  looks  every  star  out  of  countenance  quite, 
And  the  turn  of  her  head  sets  my  heart  in  a  whirl, 
And  I  envy  the  breezes  that  play  with  each  curl. 

Better  it  would  be  if  we  never  had  met, 
For  she  never  has  told  me  she  loves  me  as  yet, 
And  she  smiles  on  the  farmer  that  lives  on  the  hill, 
And  she  smiles  on  the  miller  that  works  at  the  mill. 
Then  sweet  little  Nell,  oh,  take  pity  on  me, 
All  day  I  a«i  watching  and  waiting  for  thee, 
While  I  frown  on  the  farmer  and  man  at  the  mill. 
You  shall  be  my  own  true  love  and  think  of  me  still. 


16 


The  Corporal's  Musket. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Son,  Music  Publishers, 
543  Broadway,  New  Yotk,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Take  down  the  Corporal's  musket, 

My  grandsire  brought  it  back 
From  Yorktown,  in  the  winter, 

On  a  long  and  weary  track ; 
Tho'  the  bivouac  was  over, 

And  the  march  and  fight  were  done, 
Thro'  the  mire  and  snow  he  bore  it, 

For  the  soldier  loved  his  gun  ; 
And  he  hung  it  by  his  fireside 

'Mid  the  branching  pines  of  Maine  ; 
Take  down  the  Corporal's  musket, 

We  need  it  once  again. 

CHORUS. 

Take  down  the  gun,  the  good  old  gun, 
My  grandsire  brought  to  Maine  ; 

Take  down  the  Corporal's  musket, 
'Twill  help  us  once  again. 
The  rust  has  slowly  settled, 

In  the  years  that  since  have  flown, 
Upon  the  good  old  barrel, 

That  once  like  silver  shone  ; 
It  has  a  quaint  and  war-worn  look, 

The  fashion  of  the  stock, 
Perhaps  is  only  equaled  by 

The  fashion  of  the  lock  ; 
But  slumbering  sparks  of  Seventy-six 

Within  the  flint  remain  ; 
Take  down  the  Corporal's  musket, 

We  need  it  once  again. 
Chorus — Take  down  the  gun,  etc. 


17 


The  veteran  who  bore  it, 

With  the  soldier's  measured  tread, 
Awaiting  the  great  reveille, 

Is  mustered  with  the  dead  ; 
But  above  the  din  of  battle, 

Upon  this  field  of  yore, 
His  voice  in  martial  cadence,  calls 

To  arms  !  to  arms  once  more  ! 
And  in  this  dread  and  fearful  strife, 

That  call  is  not  in  vain  ; 
Take  down  the  Corporal's  musket, 

We  need  it  once  again. 
Chorus — Take  down  the  gun,  etc. 


To  thee  and  me,  my  brother, 

Comes  down  the  soldier's  gun  ; 
It  tells  a  tale  of  mighty  deeds, 

By  patriot  valor  done : 
The  hurried  march,  the  daring  charge, 

The  onset  and  the  strife 
Of  clashing  steel,  of  bursting  shell, 

The  stake,  a  nation's  life ; 
Then  seize  once  more  that  well-tried  gun, 

Which  idle  long  has  lain  ; 
Quick !  seize  the   Corporal's  musket, 

'Twill  help  us  once  again. 

CHORUS. 

Take  down  the  gun,  the  good  old  gun, 
My  grandsire  brought  to  Maine  ; 

Take  down  the  Corporal's  musket, 
'Twill   help   us  once  again. 


13 

"  Sing  Softly,  Love." 

Copied   by  permission  of  Root   &  Cadt,   Music.  Publishers. 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  sing  to  me  as  when  of  old 

I  listened  by  your  chair, 
-And  envied  e'en  the  sunset  gold 

That  nestled  in  your  hair. 
Sing  softly,  love ;  five  golden  years 

Have  dawned  since  those  sweet  hours  : 
The  path  we  entered  on  with  fears, 
Has  proved  a  walk  of  flowers. 
Chorus — Sing  softly,  love,  sing  softly, 

Sweet  are  the  hours  that  fly, 
While  you  and  I  together  sit, 
As  in  the  days  gone  by. 

I  gaze  into  your  earnest  eyes, 

The  love-light  slumbers  there, 
As  in  an  angel's  bosom  lies 

The  yet  unuttered  prayer. 
My  soul  is  kneeling  as  of  old 

A  pilgrim  at  love's  shrine ; 
To  thee  I  tell  the  tale  oft  told 

By  lovers'  lips  ere  mine.  (Chorus.) 

The  south  wind  softly  hastens  by, 

A  murmur,  as  of  prayer, 
Seems  wafting  from  the  sunny  sky, 

And  fills  the  slumberous  air ; 
I  know  the  hand  that  rests  in  mine 

Shall  lead  me  hence  for  aye, 
As  in  our  merry  marriage-time, 

It  led  my  heart  away.  (Chorus.) 


19 


I'm  quite  a  Ladies'  Man. 

My  boots  are  irreproachable, 

And  of  my  gloves  I'm  proud, 
My  coats  are  always  d  la  mode, 

My  vests  are  never  loud  ; 
I  never  smoke — I  dance,  of  course, 

But  on  the  modern  plan — 
That  is,  I  merely  walk  and  talk, 

As  should  a  ladies'  man. 
I'm  useful  in  a  thousand  ways ; 

Whatever  would  they  do 
Who  have  no  beaux  to  take  them  to 

The  play  or  the  review ; 
To  flower-shows  I  don't  object, 

I  pic-nics  sometimes  plan, 
And  what  would  morning  concerts  be 

Without  the  ladies'  man  ? 

There's  Fannie  Bell— and  Jessie  Grey, 

They're  single  still,  you  see ; 
I  have  been  told  the  reason  is 

They're  waiting,  both,  for  me  ; 
But  Hymen's  fetters  ?  oh  dear,  no  1 

I  wear  them  never  can  ; 
It  may  be  cruel — but  I  must 

Remain  a  ladies'  man. 

This  military  movement,  it 

Is  really  quite  a  bore ; 
I've  been  obliged,  against  my  will, 

To  join  a  rifle  corps ; 
The  drill  completely  tires  me  out 

The  sun  my  face  will  tan, 
But  then  it  is  the  uniform 

That  makes  the  ladies'  man. 


20 


Just  After  the  Battle. 

Copied  by  permission    of  Root   &  Cady.  Music  Publisher?, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

StiU  upon  the  field  of  battle 

I  am  lying,  mother  dear, 
With  my  wounded  comrades  waiting, 

For  the  morning  to  appear  ; 
Many  sleep  to  waken  never, 

In  this  world  of  strife  and  death, 
And  many  more  are  faintly  calling, 
With  their  feeble,  dying  breath. 
Chorus — Mother  dear,  your  boy  is  wounded, 
And  the  night  is  drear  with  pain, 
But  still  I  feel  that  I  shall  see  you 
And  the  dear  old  home  again. 

Oh,  the  first  great  charge  was  fearful, 

And  a  thousand  brave  men  fell, 
Still  amid  the  dreadful  carnage, 

I  was  safe  from  shot  and  shell ; 
So  amid  the  fatal  shower, 

I  had  nearly  passed  the  day, 
When  here,  the  dreaded  Minnie  struck  me, 

And  I  sunk  amid  the  fray.  (Chorus.) 

Oh  the  glorious  cheer  of  triumph, 

When  the  foemen  turned  and  fled, 
Leaving  us  the  field  of  battle, 

Strewn  with  dying  and  with  dead ; 
Oh  the  torture  and  the  anguish, 

That  I  could  not  follow  on, 
But  here  amid  my  fallen  comrades, 

I  must  wait  till  morning's  dawn.     (Chorus.) 


21 


Better  Times  are  Coming. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music   Publisher, 
333  Broadway,  Now  York,  owner  of  th»  copyright. 

There  are  voices  of  hope 

That  are  borne  on  the  air, 
And  our  land  will  be  freed 

From  its  clouds  of  despair, 
For  brave  men  and  true  men 

To  battle  have  gone, 
And  good  times,  good  times 

Are  now  coming  on. 

CHORUS. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
Sound  the  news  from  the  din  of  battle  booming, 
Tell  the  people,  for  and  wide,   that  better  times  are 
coming. 

Now  Grant  is  a  leader, 

And  we'll  let  him  take  the  sway, 
For  a  man  in  his  position, 

He  should  surely  have  his  way. 
Our  nation's  honored  Scott, 

He  has  trusted  to  his  might, 
Your  faith  in  U.  S.  Grant  put, 

For  we  are  sure  he's  right.  (Chorus.) 

Generals  Rice  and  Wadsworth, 

And    McCook   now  are  gone, 
But  still  we  have  some  brave  men 

To  lead  our  soldiers  on  5 
The  noise  of  the  battle 

Will  soon  have  died  away, 
And  the  darkness  now  upon  us 

Will  be  turned  to  happy  day.     (Chorus.) 


22 


"I  can  not  bid  Thee  Go,  My  Boy." 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Son,  Music  Publishers, 
543  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  can  not  bid  thee  go,  my  boy, 

I  dare  not  bid  thee  stay ; 
My  fainting  heart  would  keep  thee  here, 

But  duty  points  the  way 
To  where  our  nation's  sons,  arrayed 

Against  the  traitorous  foe, 
Need  loyal  hearts  and  hands,  and  yet, 

I  can  not,  can  not  bid  thee  go. 

Oh,  why  are  women's  hearts  so  weak 

In  this,  our  country's  need  ? 
Why  stand  we  back  with  wistful  eyes 

And  tearful,  to  impede 
The  patriotic  zeal  of  those 
•     Who  for  their  country  dare 
Their  all  to  sacrifice,  while  we 

Yield  blindly,  blindly  to  despair  ? 

Our  task  should  be  to  cheer  them  on 

In  duty's  rugged  road  ; 
In  humble  faith  to  pray  for  *nem, 

And  ask  the  care  of  God 
On  husbands,  fathers,  brothers,  sons, 

Who  nobly  in  the  fight, 
Beneath  their  own  loved  starry  flag, 

Are  battling  for  the  right ! 

I  dare  not  bid  thee  stay,  my  boy 

And  yet  my  faltering  voice, 
Refuses  still  to  speak  the  words 

To  make  thy  heart  rejoice. 


23 

Then  let  thy  conscience  act  her  part, 
And  mark  thy  mother's  word : 

Far  better  fill  a  patriot's  grave 
Than  wield  a  traitor's  sword  ! 


I  never  had  a  Beau. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Sox   &  Co..  Music  Publishers, 
563  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Alas  for  me  !  my  heart  is  sad, 

I  am  a  lonely  one, 
Each  handsom  man  and  sprightly  lad 

My  presence  seems  to  shun  ; 
While  others  have  attendance, 

And  to  pleasant  places  go, 
I  still  must  stay  at  home,  because 

I  never,  never  had  a  beau. 

My  costume  is  arranged  with  care, 

My  dresses  are  all  padded, 
And  fashioned  in  the  latest  style  ; 

While  naught  is  left  unadded, 
To  make  all  my  perfections 

To  the  best  advantage  show, 
But  all  my  efforts  seem  in  vain, 

I  never,  never  had  a  beau. 

I  do  not  smile  to  show  my  teeth, 

But  wear  a  pensive  air  ; 
And  also  guard  my  conversation, 

With  the  strictest  care  ; 
But  pensive  airs  and  touching  smiles, 

Or  words  of  honeyed  flow, 
Will  not  attract  the  gentlemen, 

I  never,  never  had  a  beau. 


24 


When  will  he  come  back  to  me  ? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wsr.  Hall  &  Son.,  Music  Publishers 
543  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  niy  eyes  are  red  with  weeping, 

For  the  bitter  tears  will  flow  ; 
And  rny  anxious  heart  is  beating, 

With  an  anguish  none  can  know ; 
Lonely,  watching,  fearing,  hoping, 

For  the  joy  I  ne'er  shall  see, 
Still  I  fondly  keep  repeating, 

"  When  will  he  come  back  to  me  ?" 
Still  I  fondly  keep  repeating, 

"  When  will  he  come  back  to  me  !" 

On  my  lips,  his  kiss  at  parting, 

Lingers  yet  like  heavenly  dew, 
As  he  said :  "  Oh,  Minnie,  darling, 

Will  your  heart  be  ever  true  ? 
Think  upon  thy  soldier  ever, 

Trust  his  heart  is  true  to  thee !" 
Thus  he  left  me,  sad,  dejected, 

When  will  he  come  back  to  me  ? 
Thus  he  left  me,  sad,  dejected, 

When  will  he  come  back  to  me  ? 

Tho'  the  hours  are  swift  in  flying, 

Still  my  heart  outstrips  their  flight ; 
For  it  says :  "  Perchance,  to-morrow 

He  may  perish  in  the  fight !" 
Heaven  preserve  my  gallant  soldier ! 

Night  and  day  my  prayer  shall  be, 
While  I  fondly  keep  repeating, 

"  When  will  he  come  back  to  me  ?" 
While  I  fondly  keep  repeating, 

"  When  will  he  come  back  to  me  ?" 


25 


Stand  up  for  Uncle  Sam,  my  Boys ! 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,    Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Stand  up  for  Uncle  Sam,  my  boys, 

With  hearts  brave  and  true  ; 
Stand  up  for  Uncle  Sam,  my  boys, 

For  he  has  stood  by  you. 
He's  made  your  homes  the  brightort 

The  sun  e'er  shone  upon, 
For  honor,  right  and  freedom, 
He's  many  a  battle  won. 
Chorus — Stand  up  for  Uncle  Sam,  my  boys, 
"With  hearts  brave  and  true, 
Stand  up  for  Uncle  Sam,  my  boys, 
For  he  has  stood  by  you. 

Oh,  strike  for  Uncle  Sam,  my  boys, 

For  danger  is  near  ; 
Yes  !  strike  for  Uncle  Sam,  my  boys, 

And  all  to  you  most  dear. 
Rebellious  sons  are  plotting 

To  lay  the  homestead  low, 
Their  hands  are  madly  lifted 

To  give  the  fatal  blow.  (Chorus.) 

Oh,  fall  for  Uncle  Sam,  my  boys, 

If  need  be  to  save  ; 
Yes  !  fall  for  Uncle  Sam,  my  boys, 

Tho'  in  a  soldier's  grave. 
His  flag  so  long  our  glory 

Dishonored  shall  not  be ; 
But  heavenward  float  forever, 

The  banner  of  the  free.  (Chorus.) 


26 


Oarroty  Top. 


Copied  by  permission   of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
333  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  clear!  oh,  dear  !  kind  gentle  folks, ne'er  be  it  said, 

That  I've  come  here  to  see  if  any  poor  lie 

Has  trouble  like  me  with  his  head. 

My  father  and  mother  gave  up  in  despair  ; 

For  every  one  laughed  at  my  pretty  red  hair ; 

But  I  was  as  happy  and  merry  as  punch, 

Out  of  ten  little  brothers,  the  pride  of  the  bunch. 

Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  the  question  I  think  I  will  pop, 

Is  there  any  dear  maid,  that  is  not  afraid, 

To  take  me  with  my  carroty  top  ? 

Chorus — Carroty  top,  carroty  top, 

Take  me  with  my  carroty  top. 
Oh,  ciear  !  oh,  dear !  I  fear  I  shall  never  be  wed  ; 
For  where'er  I  go,  the  folks,  you  may  know, 
All  laugh  at  my  carroty  head. 

The  other  day  I  was  going  to  town  with  the  squire, 
Folks  said  that  my  head  would  set  cities  on  fire ; 
I  saw  pretty  maidens  with  cheeks  like  the  rose, 
I  gave  one  a  kiss,  and  I  painted  her  nose. 
Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear !  I  really  do  wish  you  would  stop  ; 
It  is  very  unfair,  to  come  round  with  such  hair, 
Get  away  with  your  carroty  top. 

Chorus — Carroty  top,  carroty  top,  etc. 
Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear !  a  quack  in  our  village  one  day, 
He  said  that  he  could,  I  said  that  he  should, 
Come  and  take  all  my  carrots  away ; 
He  rubbed  and  he  scrubbed,  till  my  face  went  awry, 
With  some  stuff  that  they  call  "  Our  new  patent  dye." 
My  hair  it  turned  black,  and  my  pockets  he  drained, 
Aud  it  looked  like  old  Sancho  the  first  day  it  rained. 


27 


Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  what  a  little  transmogrified  fop  ; 
My  head  it  was  bald,  like  a  pig  that  was  scalled, 
And  I  longed  for  my  carroty  top. 
Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !  the  joys  of  my  heart  you  must 

know, 
To  see  the  first  sprouts  of  my  hair  shooting  out, 
And  my  carrots  beginning  to  grow  ; 
My  carrots  with  none  would  I  willingly  swop, 
Because  I  have  such  an  excellent  crop ; 
And  a  lesson  I've  learned,  which  is,  never  to  fret, 
But  be  always  content  with  whatever  you  get. 
Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear!  I'm  off  with  a  bound  and  a  hop, 
So,  good  people,  you  see  you  can  all  happy  be, 
If  you  have  got  a  carroty  top. 


The  Sands  of  Dee. 

"  Oh,  Mary,  go  and  call  the  cattle  home, 

Across  the  sands  of  Dee." 
The  western  wind  was  wild  and  dark  with  foam, 

And  all  alone  went  she. 
The  western  tide  crept  up  along  the  sand, 

As  far  as  eye  could  see. 
The  rolling  mist  came  down  and  hid  the  land  : 

And  never  home  came  she. 

"  Oh  !  is  it  weed,  or  fish,  or  floating  hair — 

Above  the  nets  at  sea  ?" 
Was  never  salmon  yet  that  shone  so  fair 

Among  the  stakes  of  Dee. 
They  rowed  her  in  across  the  rolling  foam, 

To  her  grave  beside  the  sea. 
But  still  the  boatmen  hear  her  call  the  cattle  home, 

Across  tho  sands  of  Dee. 


28 


"Uncle  Sam's  Funeral." 

Copied  by  permission  of   Root   &  Cadt,   Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

'Twas  but  little  while  ago,  that  the  copperheads  were 

found 
With    their    great  Vallandigharruner,    a    hammering 

around, 
And   they  tried  to  scare  us  with  their  doleful  sound, 

h'm,  ha ! 
Yes,  they  tried  to  scare  us  with  their   doleful  sound, 

h'm,  ha  ! 

Then  said  they,  "  Oh,   people   dear,  poor  old  Uncle 

Sam  is  dead, 
Let  us  put  him  in  his  coffin,  and  hammer  down  the 

lid," 
And  to  work  they  all  went,  as   the  words  they  said, 

h'm,  ha ! 

Said  the  people,  "  Is  it  so,  pray,  what  made  him  die  ? 
Though  we  never  will  believe  you,  you  are  so  apt  to 

lie." 
"  Of  the  nigger  proclamation,"  they  did  cry,  h'm  ha ! 
"  'Twas  the  nigger  proclamation,"  they  did  cry,  h'm,  ha ! 

But  the  people  only  laughed  at  the  story  that  they  told, 
For  they  knew  his  Constitution,  and  answered  up  so 

bold, 
"  Oh,  you  silly  copperheads,  you're  badly  sold,  h'm,  ha  ! 

Uncle  Sam  he  then   arose,  like    a   giant,  hale    and 

strong, 
With    his  people,    and    his    army,  a  glorious   loyal 

throng  ; 
And  the  coppers  sneaked  to  where  they  all  belong, 

h'm,  ha! 


29 


Where  they  have  gone  to,  it   is   quite  impossible  to 

tell, 
But  if  they  are  not  repenting,  we    all    know    very 

well, 
That   some  time  or  other,  we  shall   ring  their  knell, 

h'm,  ha  ! 

Yes,  some  time  or  other,  etc. 


The  Minstrel's  Tear. 

I've  torn  away  the  silver  strings, 

That  graced  my  favorite  lute  ; 
No  more  to  bliss  my  memory  clings, 

The  song  of  love  is  mute  ; 
I  gaze  upon  the  gilded  wreck 

Of  what  I  strove  to  rear, 
And  feel  a  trickling  on  my  cheek, 

It  is  the  minstrel's  tear. 
I  scarcely  dare  to  look  upon 

That  lute  which  told  of  love ; 
The  eye  that  kindled  every  tone, 

No  longer  bids  it  move  ; 
It  roves  away  in  wandering  mood, 

Unheeding  of  the  sear 
That  preys  upon  the  minstrel's  heart, 

And  forms  the  minstrel's  tear. 
Adieu,  adieu,  my  favorite  lute, 

Go  seek  some  other  lord  ; 
But  when  he'd  sing  of  bliss,  be  mute, 

Nor  sound  the  thrilling  chord : 
But  would  he  sing  of  blighted  love, 

Thy  master's  fate  revere  ; 
And  hallow  that  far  all  above, 

Which  caused  the  minstrel's  tear. 


30 


Whoever  Oan  He  Be? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  PoxND  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

On  Monday  night  a  walk  I  took 

To  visit  Mrs.  Ray, 

And  being  very  friendly  there, 

Was  warmly  pressed  to  stay ; 

But  when  I  reached  my  home  again, 

Such  a  surprise  for  me ! 

"  A  handsome  gentleman  had  called," 

But  oh  !  who  can  he  be  ? 

Chorus — Whoever  can  he  be, 

Whoever  can  he  be  ? 

The  handsome  gentleman  that  called, 

Whoever  can  he  be  ? 

The  servant  opened  the  door  to  him ; 

He  asked  to  see  Miss  Jane ; 
Of  course  she  told  him  I  was  out, 

And  would  he  call  again  ? 
His  hight  was  tall,  his  figure  good, 

Hisf  eatures  fair  to  see  ; 
He  did  not  leave  his  card — oh  dear  ! 

Whoever  can  he  be  ?  (Chorus.) 

He  said  he  knew  me  very  well, 

He  met  me  at  at  a  ball ; 
I  don't  remember  him,  indeed, 

I  danced  with  short  and  tall. 
If  he  had  left  his  card  with  her, 

Then  I  should  plainly  see 
What  motive  he  had  thus  to  come ; 

'Tis  strange — who  can  he  be  ?         (Chorus.) 
Tia  always  thus  when  one  is  out, 

Somebody's  sure  to  call  ; 


31 


But  when  I'm  in  the  house  all  day, 

Then  no  one  comes  at  all. 
From  what  the  servant  said  of  him, 

And  what  he  said  of  me, 
I'd  really  give  a  deal  to  know 

Who  this  handsome  man  can  be.    (Cnonus.) 

Indeed,  I  think  I'll  advertise — 

Ah  !  that  will  be  the  plan  ; 
And  head  it  thus  :   k*  Lost,  strayed,  or  stole*, 

A  model  of  a  man  f 
My  heart  will  break,  it  surely  wV\ 

If  I  don't  quickly  see 
The  gent  who  called  on  Monday  night, 

Whoever  can  he  be  ?  (Chorus.) 


Bright-eyed  Maggie. 

There's  a  brightness  in  thine  eye,  Maggie, 

Like  the  light  in  summer  hours  ; 
There's  a  fragrance  in  thy  sigh,  Maggie, 

More  sweet  than  opening  flowers. 
There's  ruby  on  thy  lip,  Maggie, 

More  bright  than  rosy  wine  ; 
Prom  no  other  cup  I'd  sip,  Maggie 

But  the  nectar  brim  of  thine  ! 

And  the  music  of  thy  tongue,  Maggie, 

Would  still  a  seraph's  voice ; 
There's  a  sweetness  in  thy  song,  Maggie, 

Like  the  breeze  when  flowers  rejoice ; 
A  world  is  in  thy  kiss,  Maggie, 

And  in  thy  smiles  I  see 
Such  rapture,  I've  no  wish,  Maggie, 

But  destiny  and  tfa 


32 


Will  you  come  to  meet  me,  darling  ? 

Copied  by  permission   of   Root   &  Cadt,  Music   Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

When  my  feet  have  grown  too  weary- 
Farther  on  to  press  their  way, 
When  my  spirit  waits  the  bidding 

To  be  severed  from  its  clay — 
I  shall  need  some  hand  to  guide  me 

O'er  the  dark  and  flowing  tide  ; 
Will  you  come  to  meet  me,  darling, 
When  I  reach  the  river  side  ? 
Chorus — I  am  here  to  meet  you, 

I  am  here  to  guide  you, 
I  am  here,  darling, 

I  am  here  to  guide  you  home. 

Will  you  leave  your  home  of  glory 

In  the  mansions  bright  above, 
And  on  angel  wings  float  near  me, 

Near  the  heart  you  used  to  love  ? 
And  all  through  the  darkened  valley 

Shall  I  find  you  by  my  side  ? 
Will  you  come  to  meet  me,  darling, 

Will  you  be  my  angel  guide  ?         (Chorus.) 

Oh  !  I  know  the  love  between  us 

Death  can  never  take  away, 
Dearer,  brighter  still  it  growetk 

Near  the  closing  of  the  day. 
Hark  !  I  hear  the  heavenly  music, 

And  an  angel  whispers,  u  Come  ! 
I  am  here  to  meet  you,  darling, 

I  am  here  to  guide  you  home."        (Chorus.) 


When  the  Moon  with  glory  Brightens. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
563  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

When  the  moon  with  glory  brightens 

In  fair  heaven's  silvery  sea, 
And  the  field  and  streamlet  lighten, 
Maiden,  wilt  thou  roam  with  me  t 
While  all  nature  is  reposing, 

And  the  night  is  calm  and  free, 
Then,  my  love,  to  thee  disclosing, 
I  would  wander  forth  with  thee. 
Chorus — While  the  silvery  moon  is  shining 
In  her  starry  throne  above, 
Then,  fair  maid,  near  thee  reclining, 
I  would  whisper  words  of  love. 

I  would  tell  thee,  dearest  maiden, 

Of  the  love  I  bear  to  thee  ; 
Since  thine  eyes  with  beauty  laden 

Beamed  affection's  light  on  me. 
And,  sweet  maid,  if  thou  wilt  only 

Give  unchanging  love  to  me, 
While  I  live,  I'll  ne'er  be  lonely, 

For  content  I'll  dwell  with  thee.     (Chorus.) 

Life  to  me  were  dull  and  dreary, 

If  thy  love  I  can  not  gain  ; 
And  my  heart  were  sad  and  weary, 

For  thy  form  'twill  e'er  rekiin. 
Take,  oh  take  the  loving  treasure 

My  fond  heart  doth  freely  give, 
And  return  in  equal  measure, 

Thy  sweet  love,  that  it  may  live.    (Chorus.) 


34 


Washington  and  Lincoln. 

Copied   by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady.  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Come,  happy  people  !  oh  come,  let  us  tell 

The  story  of  Washington  and  Lincoln  ! 
History's  pages  can  never  excel 

The  story  of  Washington  and  Lincoln. 
Down  through  ages  an  anthem  shall  go, 
Bearing  the  honors  we  gladly  bestow — 
Till  every  nation  and  language  shall  know 
The  story  of  Washington  and  Lincoln. 

CHORUS. 

Who  gave  us  independence,  on  continent  and  sea — 
Who  saved  the  glorious  Union,  and  set  the  people  free ! 
This  is  the  story — oh  happy  are  we — 
The  story  of  Washington  and  Lincoln. 

Parents  to  children  shall  tell  with  delight, 
The  story  of  Washington  and  Lincoln  ; 
Freeborn  and  freedmen  together  recite 

The  story  of  Washington  and  Lincoln. 
Earth's  weary  bondmen  shall  listen  with  cheer — 
Tyrants  shall  tremble,  and  traitors  shall  fear — 
When,  in  its  fullness  of  glory,  they  hear 
The  story  of  Washington  and  Lincoln. 

Though  on  the  war-cloud  recorded  with  steel, 
The  story  of  Washington  and  Lincoln ; 

Peace,  only  peace,  can  completely  reveal 
The  story  of  Washington  and  Lincoln. 

Thanks  to  the  Lord  for  the  days  we  behold  ! 

Thanks  for  the  unsullied  flag  we  unfold  ! 

Thanks  that  to  us,  and  in  our  time,  was  told 
The  story  of  Washington  and  Lincoln. 


35 

Maudie  Moore. 

Copied    by  permission   of   Root   «fc  Cadt,   Music  Publishers, 
96  C^ark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

How  wildly  glad,  yet  sweetly  sad, 

Come  back  the  darling  days  of  yore ; 
When  first  I  knew  how  tried  and  true, 

Could  be  the  heart  of  Maudie  Moore ; 
The  year  was  young,  the  robins  sung 

Of  joy  around  nay  cottage  door. 
And  nature,  bright  with  love  and  light, 
Stole  half  the  smiles  of  Maudie  Moore. 
Chohus — Oh,  Maudie  Moore  !  the  years  of  yore 

Come  thronging  back  my  memory  o'er, 
I  would  not  give  one  wish  to  live. 

Since  thou  hast  left  me,  Maudie  Moore. 

As  oft  we  strayed  adown  the  glade, 

The  sunset  stole  her  blush  of  bloom, 
The  flowers  wild  looked  up  and  smiled, 

And  filled  the  air  with  rich  perfume. 
And  side  by  side  at  eventide, 

"We  walked  the  river  s  shining  shore  ; 
The  breath  of  God  hung  o'er  the  sod, 

And  kissed  the  cheek  of  Maudie  Moore, 

But  she  is  gone  !  at  dark  or  dawn, 

"When  winds  and  waters  howl  and  hum, 
I  watch  and  wait  till  it  is  late, 

But  Maudie  never  more  will  come ; 
At  dawn  of  day  she  passed  away, 

To  walk  another  shining  shore  \ 
And  oft  from  sleep  I  wake  and  weep, 

To  find  I've  lost  sweet  Maudie  Moore. 


36 


Down  by  the  River. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers* 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Down  by  the  river  lived  a  maiden, 

In  a  cottage  built  just  seven  by  nine, 
And  all  around  this  lubly  bower, 

The  beauteous  sunflower  blossoms  twine. 
Chorus — Oh  !  my  Olema,  oh  !  my  Clema, 
Oh  !  my  darling  Clementine, 
Now  you  are  gone  and  lost  forever, 
I'm  drefful  sorry,  Clementine. 

Her  lips  were  like  two  luscious  beefsteaks 
Dipped  in  tomato  sass  and  brine, 

And  like  the  cashmere  goatess  covering 
Was  the  covering  of  Clementine. 

Her  foot,  oh,  golly !  'twas  a  beauty, 
Her  shoes  were  made  of  Digby  pine, 

Two  herring  boxes  without  the  tops  on 
Just  made  the  sandals  of  Clementine ! 

One  day,  de  wind  was  blowing  awful, 
I  took  her  down  some  old  rye  wine, 

And  listened  to  the  sweetest  cooings, 
Ob  my  sweet  sunflower,  Clementine. 

De  ducks  had  gone  down  to  de  riber, 
To  drive  dem  back  she  did  incline, 

She  stubbed  her  toe,  and  oh,  kersliver ! 
She  fell  into  the  foamy  brine. 

I  see'd  her  lips  above  de  waters, 

A  blowing  bubbles,  berry  fine, 
But  'twan't  no  use,  I  wan't  no  swimmer, 

And  so  I  lost  my  Clementine. 


37 


Now  ebery  night  down  by  de  riber, 

Her  ghostess  walks,  'bout  half-past  nine. 

I  know  'tis  her,  akase  I  tracked  her, 
And  by  de  smell  'tis  Clementine. 


The  Maids  of  Dear  Columbia. 

Oh  !  the  maids  of  dear  Columbia, 
So  beautiful  and  fair, 
With  eyes  like  diamonds  sparkling, 

And  richly  flowing  hair  ; 
Their  hearts  are  light  and  cheerful, 
And  their  spirits  ever  gay. 
Chorus — The  maids  of  dear  Columbia, 
How  beautiful  are  they. 

They  are  like  the  lovely  flowers 

In  summer  time  that  bloom, 
On  the  sportive  breezes  shedding, 

Their  choice  and  sweet  perfume, 
Our  eyes  and  hearts  delighting, 

With  their  varied  array.  (Chorus.) 

They  smile  when  we  are  happy. 

When  we  are  sad  they  sigh, 
When  anguish  wrings  our  bosoms, 

The  tear  they  gently  dry  ; 
Oh  !  happy  is  the  nation 

That  owns  their  tender  sway.     (Ohorus.) 

Then  ever  like  true  patriots, 

May  we  join  both  heart  and  hand 

To  protect  the  lovely  maidens 
Of  this  our  Fatherland, 
And  that  heaven  may  ever  bless  them 

Well  all  devoutly  pray.  (Chorus.) 


88 

When  will  my  darling  Boy  return? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root   &  Cadt,    Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

When  will  my  darling  boy  return, 

To  cheer  this  sad  and  lonely  heart ; 

And  bid  my  spirit  cease  to  yearn, 

My  sorrows  quickly  all  depart. 

Two  years  ago  he  left  my  side 

To  fight  for  freedom,  truth,  and  right ; 

He  is  my  precious  one,  my  pride  ; 

Oh  !  that  he'd  come  to  me  to-night. 

Chorus — When  will  my  darling  boy  return, 

To  cheer  this  sad  and  lonely  heart, 

And  bid  my  spirit  cease  to  yearn, 

My  sorrows  quickly  all  depart 

In  dreams,  amid  the  blinding  storm 

I  see  him  wounded,  dying,  dead — 
I  kneel  to  raise  his  bleeding  form, 

And  wake  to  see  that  vision  fled. 
Again,  I  meet  him  face  to  face, 

Far  from  the  sound  of  war's  alarms, 
A.nd  vainly  strive  with  fond  embrace, 

To  clasp  a  phantom  in  my  arms.     (Chobtts.) 

The  changing  seasons  come  and  go, 

The  months  have  rounded  into  years ; 
Nor  time,  nor  change  can  soothe  my  woe. 

My  hopes  are  swallowed  up  in  fears. 
When  music's  spell  is  o'er  me  thrown 

I  list  not  to  the  voice  of  song ; 
Among  the  multitude,  alone, 

My  spirit  cries,  "  How  long,  how  long  !" 

Each  battle  lost,  or  victory  won, 

O'erwhelms  my  heart  with  anguish  wild ; 


Trembling  I  cry,  my  son  !  my  son  ! 

Oh,  bring  me  tidings  of  my  child ! 
I  feel  I  could  not  be  resigned, 

I  could  not  bear  the  crushing  pain, 
If  it  should  be  my  lot  to  6nd 

flis  name  enrolled  among  the  slain. 


The  Old  Man's  Reverie 

Copied  by  permission  ofWjc.  A.  Pond  &  Co..  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  old  man  looks  in  the  young  girl's  face, 

And  his  eyes  turn  sad  and  dim, 
In  those  sweet  young  looks  he  has  found  a  trace 

Of  a  form  once  dear  to  him  ; 
He  is  listening  not,  though  her  song  he  hears, 

To  the  magic  of  its  tone, 
For  his  thoughts  go  back  thro'  the  lapse  of  years 

To  a  first  love  of  his  own. 
He  has  seen  before,  in  the  days  gone  by, 

A  form  as  bright,  as  fair, 
With  the  same  slim  hand,  and  the  same  blue  eye, 

And  the  same  rich  clustering  hair ; 
But  his  earnest  look,  and  his  tear,  betrays 

How  deep  his  love  has  been, 
As  his  thoughts  go  back  to  his  early  days, 

And  the  gap  of  years  between. 
A  hope  is  quenched  in  that  old  man's  heart, 

A  star  has  left  his  sky, 
But  his  love  has  been  of  his  soul  a  part, 

And  its  brightness  can  not  die  ; 
Oh,  sweet  to  him  is  the  dreamlike  trance, 

Of  the  form  long  heavenward  flown, 
That  the  old  man  sees  in  the  young  girl's  face, 

Of  that  first  love  of  his  own  ! 


40 


People  Will  Talk. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher!, 
553  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

We  may  get  through  the  world,  but  'twill  be  very  slow, 

If  we  listen  to  all  that  is  said  as  we  go ; 

We'll  be  worried  and  fretted  and  kept  in  a  stew, 

For  meddlesome  tongues  must  have  something  to  do. 

People  will  talk,  you  know,  oh,  yes,  they  must  talk,  etc. 

If  quiet  and  modest,  you'll  have  it  presumed 
That  your  hfimble  position  is  only  assumed ; 
You're  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing  or  else  you're  a  fool, 
But  don't  get  excited,  keep  perfectly  cool. 

If  generous  and  noble,  they'll  vent  out  their  spleen, 
You'll  hear  some  loud  hints  that  you're  selfish  and  mean; 
If  upright  and  honest,  and  fair  as  the  day, 
They'll  call  you  a  rogue,  in  a  sly,  sneaking  way. 

And  then,  if  you  show  the  least  boldness  of  heart, 
Or  a  slight  inclination  to  take  your  own  part, 
They  will  call  you  an  upstart,  conceited  and  vain 
But  keep  straight  ahead,  don't  stop  to  explain. 

If  threadbare  your  coat,  or  old-fashioned  your  hat, 
Some  one,  of  course,  will  take  notice  of  that, 
And  hint  rather  strong,  that  you  can't  pay  your  way, 
But  don't  get  excited,  whatever  they  say. 

If  you  dress  in  the  fashion,  don't  think  to  escape, 
For  they  criticise  then,  in  a  different  shape  ; 
You're  ahead  of  your  means,  or  your  tailor's  unpaid, 
But  mind  your  own  business,  there's  naught  to  bo  made. 

If  a  fellow  but  chances  to  wink  at  a  girl, 
How  the  gossips  will  talk,  and  their  scandal  unfurl ; 
They'll  canvass  your  wants,  and  talk  of  your  means, 
And  declare  you're  engaged  to  a  chit  in  her  teens. 


41 

They'll  talk  line  before  you,  but  then,  at  your  back, 

Of  venom  and  slander  there's  never  a  lack  ; 

ITow  kind  and  polite  is  all  that  they  say, 

But  bitter  as  gall,  when  you're  out  of  the  way. 

The  best  way  to  do,  is  to  do  as  you  please, 

For  your  mind,  if  you  have  one,  will  then  be  at  rnso  ; 

Of  course  you'll  meet  with  all  sorts  of  abuse, 

But  don't  think  to  stop  them,  it  ain't  any  use. 


Of  a'  the  Airts  the  Wind  can  Blaw. 

Of  a'  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw, 

I  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassies  live 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best ; 
There  wild  woods  grow,  and  rivers  row, 

And  rnony  a  hill  between, 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  with  my  Jean. 
Oh  blaw,  ye  westlin  winds,  blaw  saft, 

Amang  the  leafy  trees, 
Wf  gentle  breath  frai  muir  an'  dale, 

Bring  hame  the  laden  bees  ; 
And  bring  the  lassie  back  to  me, 

That's  aye  sa  neat  an'  clean,  ^7. 
Ac  blink  o'  her  would  banish  care, 

Sae  charming  is  my  Jean. 
I  see  her  in  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair, 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  in  the  air. 
There's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs 

By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green, 
There's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings, 

But  minds  me  of  my  Jean. 


42 


Mary  Fay. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Watebs,  Music  Publisher. 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

By  Mohawk's  stream  the  Indian  roved, 

With  the  moose  and  the  fallow  roe 
And  there  the  Indian  maiden  loved, 

And  paddled  her  bark  canoe. 
On  that  green  shore  where  the  willows  wave, 

And  the  whippowil's  song  is  heard, 
The  jewel  of  my  heart  has  found  a  grave, 

And  hid  like  a  frightened  bird.  . 
Chorus — Oh,  where  has  she  gone,  my  Mary  Fay, 
My,  love,  my  joy,  my  pain, 
I  would  go  to  the  ends  of  the  raging  sea 
To  hear  her  voice  again. 
Her  eyes  were  bright  as  the  stars  of  night, 

Her  lips  like  the  rose  in  the  morn ; 
Oh,  I  never,  never  more  shall  see  the  light 

Of  her  face  'mong  the  waving  corn : 
Oh,  never,  never  more  shall  I  take  her  hand — 

Her  little  soft  hand  in  mine, 
For  she  has  hid  by  the  river's  yellow  sand, 

And  is  sleeping  'neath  the  merry  moonshine. 


Den  Youll  Remember  Me. 

When  older  niggas  lips  an'  hearts 

Cart-loads  ob  lub  shall  tell, 
In  big  words  whose  loud  breaf  exparts, 

What  make  dem  feel  so  well ; 
You  may,  perhaps,  just  at  dat  time, 

Some  recollections  see 
Ob  days  when  wTe  the  gum-tree  climbed, 

Den  you'll  remember  me. 


43 

When  darkies  come  de  possum  quite, 

Dat  crowded  round  like  flies, 
An'  say  it's  only  taller  white, 

Dat  rolls  widin  dem  eyes, 
When  holler  hearts  sound  like  a  log, 

Cut  from  de  ole  gum-tree, 
An'  you  sigh  like  de  lone-tree  frog, 

Den  you'll  remember  me. 


Beautiful  Child  of  Song. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Muaic  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Come,  I  am  longing  to  hear  thee, 

Beautiful  child  of  song  ! 
Come,  tho'  the  hearts  that  are  near  thee 
Around  thee  devotedly  throng. 
Chorus — Come,  I'm  longing  to  hear  thee, 
Beautiful  child  of  song  ! 
I  am  longing  to  hear  thee  carol 
Thy  lay,  sweet  child  of  my  song. 

Come,  for  the  spell  of  a  fairy 

Dwells  in  thy  magical  voice ; 
And  at  thy  step,  light  and  air}-, 

E'en  cold  hearts  in  rapture  rejoice. 
Come,  I  am  longing,  etc. 

Come,  fill  the  air  with  thy  numbers, 

Come  from  the  angels  among; 
Wake  my  dull  soul  from  its  slumbers, 

Oh,  beautiful  child  of  song ! 
Come,  I  am  longing,  etc. 


44 


Tm  Dying  far  from  those  I  Love. 

Copied  by  permission  of   Root  &  Cady.   Music  Publishers* 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I'm  dying  far  from  tho.*  I  love ! 

No  gentle  voice  my  way  to  cheer ! 
How  calmly  would  my  breath  depart, 

If  loving  ones  were  only  near. 
No  mother's  lips  are  on  my  brow. 

But  strangers  watch  my  lonely  bed  ; 
And  no  one  here  will  shed  a  tear, 
When  I  am  lying  cold  and  dead. 
Chorus — I'm  dying  far  from  those  I  love, 

No  gentle  voice  my  way  to  cheer, 
How  calmly  would  my  breath  depart, 
If  loving  ones  were  only  near. 

I'm  dying  far  from  those  I  love ! 

Oh  tell  them,  in  the  gory  right 
I  bore  our  banner's  starry  folds, 

And  battled  for  the  Truth  and  Right. 
What  grief  will  rend  poor  mother's  heart, 

To  hear  my  mournful  story  told  ! 
I  was  her  pride,  and  by  her  side 

I  thought  to  stay  when  she  was  old. 

I'm  dying  far  from  those  I  love  ! 

I'm  going  now — my  eyes  are  dim, 
And  all  around  there  softly  falls 

The  angels'  sweet  and  happy  hymn. 
Oh  stranger,  bear  my  parting  wTords 

To  those  at  home  so  true  and  dear ; 
Tell  them  in  love  we'll  meet  above, 

Though  we  are  sadly  severed  here. 


45 


Uncle  Ben,  the  Yankee. 

Uncle  Ben,  did  you  never  hear  tell, 
In  Boston  town  he  was  born  full  well — 
The  only  failing  poor  Ben  had 
Was  that  his  memory  was  bad. 
For  sich  a  tarnation  chap  was  old  Ben  the  Yankee, 
Sich  an  absent  man  you  never  did  6ee. 
Once  with  him  I  did  walking  go, 
"When  he  felt  an  itching  in  his  great  toe  ; 
He  stooped,  with  such  a  serious  phiz, 
And  scratched  my  toe  instead  of  his. 
After  washing  once,  it  was  the  case, 
He  with  the  paper  wiped  his  face ; 
He  then  sat  down — the  towel  perused, 
And  vowed  he  had  been  much  amused. 
Once  his  forgetfulness  was  such, 
Instead  of  an  egg,  he  boiled  his  watch ; 
And  kept  in  ignorance  sublime, 
Till  he  looked  at  the  egg  to  see  the  time. 

In  his  optics  being  but  queer, 
He  put  his  specs  once  on  his  ear  ; 
Then  walked  sideways,  four  miles  did  go, 
Before  he  did  the  difference  know. 

Intending  once  to  ride  his  torse, 

He  put  the  saddle  his  own  back  across — 

Nor  saw  he  his  mistake,  alack ! 

Till  he  tried  in  vain  to  get  on  his  own  back. 

Intending  once  to  get  into  bed, 
He  put  his  trousers  there  instead  ; 
He  tucked  'em  up,  and  then  this  elf, 
Across  the  chair-back  threw  himself. 


46 

Katie  Lee  and  Willie  Gray. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Two  brown  heads  with  tossing  curls, 

Red  lips  shutting  over  pearls, 

Bare  feet  white  and  wet  with  dew, 

Two  eyes  black  and  two  eyes  blue ; 

Little  boy  and  girl  were  they, 

Katie  Lee  and  Willie  Gray. 

They  were  standing  wThere  a  brook, 

Bending  like  a  shepherd's  crook, 

Flashed  its  silver,  and  thick  ranks 

Of  green  willow  fringed  the  banks  ; 

Half  in  thought  and  half  in  play, 

Katie  Lee  and  Willie  Gray. 

They  had  cheeks  like  cherries  red  ; 

He  was  taller — 'most  a  head  ; 

She,  with  arms  like  wreaths  of  snow, 

Swung  a  basket  to  and  fro, 

As  she  loitered,  half  in  play, 

Chattering  to  Willie  Gray. 

"  Pretty  Katie,"  Will,  he  said— 

And  there  came  a  dash  of  red 

Through  the  brownness  of  his  cheek — 

"  Boys  are  strong  and  girls  are  weak. 

And  I'll  carry,  so  I  will, 

Katie's  basket  up  the  hill." 

Katie  answered  with  a  laugh, 

"  You  shall  carry  only  half;" 

And  then,  tossing  back  her  curls, 

"  Boys  are  weak  as  well  as  girls." 

Do  you  think  that  Katie  guessed, 

Half  the  wisdom  she  expressed  ? 


47 


Men  are  only  boys  grown  tall, 
Hearts  don't  change  much  after  all ; 
And  when,  long  years  from  that  day, 
Katie  Lee  and  Willie  Gray 
Stood  again  beside  the  brook, 
Bending  like  a  shepherd's  crook, 

Is  it  strange  that  Willie  said — 

While  again  a  dash  of  red 

Crossed  the  brownness  of  his  cheek — 

"  I  am  strong  and  you  are  weak  : 

Life  is  but  a  slippery  steep, 

Hung  with  shadows  cold  and  deep  ; 

"  Will  you  trust  me,  Katie,  dear  ? 
Walk  beside  me  without  fear  ? 
May  I  carry,  if  I  will, 
All  your  burdens  up  the  hill  ?" 
And  she  answered  with  a  laugh, 
"  Xo  ;  but  you  may  carry  half." 

Close  beside  the  little  brook, 
Bending  like  a  shepherd's  crook, 
Washing  with  its  silver  hands, 
Late  and  early  at  the  sands, 
Is  a  cottage,  where,  to-day, 
Katie  lives  with  Willie  Gray. 

In  a  porch  she  sits,  and  lo  ! 
Swings  a  basket  to  and  fro, 
Vastly  different  from  the  one 
That  she  swung  in  years  agone  ; 
This  is  long,  and  deep  and  wide. 
And  has  rockers  at  the  side. 


48 


Brother,  tell  me  of  the  Battle. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,   Music  Publishers 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Brother,  tell  me  of  the  battle, 

How  the  soldiers  fought  and  fell — 
Tell  me  of  the  weary  marches, 

She  who  loves  will  listen  well. 
Brother,  draw  thee  close  beside  me, 

Lay  your  head  upon  my  breast, 
While  you're  telling  of  the  battle, 
Let  your  fevered  forehead  rest. 
Chorus — Brother,  tell  me  of  the  battle, 

How  the  soldiers  fought  and  fell, 
Tell  me  of  the  weary  marches, 
She  who  loves  will  listen  well. 

Brother,  tell  me  of  the  battle, 

For  they  said  your  life  was  o'er, 
They  all  told  me  you  had  fallen, 

That  I'd  never  see  you  more ; 
Oh,  I've  been  so  sad  and  lonely, 

Filled,  my  breast  has  been,  with  pain, 
Since  they  said  my  dearest  brother 

I  should  never  see  again.  (Chorus.) 

Brother,  tell  me  of  the  battle, 

I  can  bear  to  hear  it  now — 
Lay  your  head  upon  my  bosom, 

Let  me  soothe  your  fevered  brow 
Tell  me,  are  you  badly  wounded  ? 

Did  we  win  the  deadly  fight  ? 
Did  the  victory  crown  our  banner  ? 

Did  you  put  the  foe  to  flight?         (Chorus.) 


49 


The  Old  Sexton. 

Nigh  to  a  grave  that  was  newly  made, 

Leaned  a  sexton  old,  on  his  earth-worn  spade : 

His  work  was  done,  and  he  paused  to  wait 

The  funeral  train  through  the  open  gate : 

A  relic  of  bygone  days  was  he, 

And  his  locks  were  white  as  the  foamy  sea  ; 

And  these  words  came  from  his  lips  so  thin ; 

4%  I  gather  them  in — I  gather  them  in  ! 

t%  Many  are  with  me,  but  still  I'm  alone ; 

I'm  king  of  the  dead,  and  I  make  my  throne 

On  a  monument  slab  of  marble  cold, 

And  my  scepter  of  rule  is  the  spade  I  hold. 

Come  they  from  cottage,  or  come  they  from  hall, 

Mankind  are  my  subjects — all,  all,  all ! 

Let  them  troll  in  pleasure,  or  toilfully  spin, 

I  gather  them  in,  I  gather  them  in. 

"  I  gather  them  in,  for  man  and  boy, 

Year  after  year  of  grief  and  joy ; 

I've  builded  the  houses  that  lie  around, 

In  every  nook  of  the  burial  ground. 

Mother  and  daughter,  father  and  son, 

Come  to  my  solitude  one  by  one. 

But  come  they  strangers,  or  come  they  kin, 

I  gather  them  in,  I  gather  them  in. 

"  I  gather  them  in,  and  their  final  rest 

Is  here,  down  here,  in  the  earth's  dark  breaiL" 

And  the  sexton  ceased,  for  the  funeral  train 

Wound  mutely  o'er  that  solemn  plain. 

And  I  said  to  myself,  u  When  time  is  old, 

A  mightier  voice  than  this  sexton  old, 

Will  sound  o'er  the  last  trump's  dreadful  din, 

4 1  gather  them  in,  I  gather  them  in  !' " 


50 


I'd  Choose  to  be  a  Baby. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers 
277  Washington  street,  Bostonjowners  of  the  copyright. 

Pd  choose  to  be  a  baby, 

A  darling  little  flower, 
Without  a  care  or  sorrow, 

As  I  was  in  childhood's  hour. 
When  ladies,  (heaven  bless  them,) 
They'd  kiss  me  and  they'd  vow, 
That  they  could  almost  eat  me — 
Why  don't  they  do  it  now  ? 
Chorus — I'd  choose  to  be  a  baby, 
A  darling  little  flower, 
For  the  girls  to  kiss  and  cuddle  me, 
As  they  did  in  childhood's  hour. 

When  I  used  to  be  a  baby, 

They'd  to  my  cradle  creep, 
They'd  kiss  and  hug  and  cuddle  me, 

Till  I  fell  off  to  sleep. 
Yes,  they'd  kiss  and  squeeze  me,  too, 

Till  I  felt  any  how, 
They'd  even  wash  and  dress  me — 

Why  don't  they  do  it  now  ?        (Choktjs.) 

For  pleased  they  were  to  nurse  me, 

They  would  take  me  on  their  lap, 
And  would  stuff  my  little  belly  full 

Of  lollipop  and  pap. 
They  would  chew  me  tops  and  bottoms, 

And  if  I  made  a  row, 
They'd-  press  me  to  their  bosoms — 

Why  don't  they  do  it  now  ?        (Chorus.) 


51 


When  the  ladies  used  to  love  me, 

They  would  make  me  such  nice  clothes, 
They  would  make  me  nice  morocco  shoes, 

And  wipe  my  little  nose. 
And  when  the  shades  of  evening  came, 

And  sleep  came  o'er  my  brow, 
They  said  it's  time  to  go  to  bed — 

But  they  never  say  so  now.  (Chorus.) 


I'se  on  de  Way. 


Copied  by  permission  of   Root   &  Cady,   Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

chorus  before  each  verse. 

Hail !  all  hail  !  I'se  a  gwine  to  de  Union  ah-my, 

Hail !  all  hail !  I'se  on  de  way. 

Ah  now  we'se  men,  for  de  President's  pen 

Done  made  us  free  in  de  proclamashun, 

Guess  dey's  right,  if  dey  tink  we'll  fight, 

Oh,  I'se  on  de  way. 

Come,  boys,  come,  we  must  work  our  own  salbashun, 

Come,  boys,  come,  I'se  on  de  way. 

Mass'  in  de  war,  he  dunno  what  for, 

But  ses  he'll  lick  all  de  Yankee  nashun, 
How  he  swar,  wen  he  find  us  dar, 

Oh,  I'se  on  de  way. 
Ole  Ben  so  grand,  ses  we  contraband, 

And  fust  we  work  on  de  forty cashuu, 
Now  we  come  for  to  should'  de  gun, 

Oh,  I'se  on  de  way. 
Xo  more  hard  blows  in  de  cotton  rows, 

We  bid  fahwell  to  de  ole  plantashun, 
Bye,  Mass'  Jeff.,  for  we'se  done  gone  leff, 

And  I'se  on  de  way. 


L 


52 


Columbia's  G-uardian  Angei. 

Copied  by  permission   of  Root   &  Cadt,   Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  tbe  copyright. 

An  echo  floats  down  from  the  mountains, 
And  finds  on  the  prairies  release ; 

An  echo  whose  wonderful  burden 
Is  "  Victory  !  Liberty  !  Peace  !" 

CHORUS. 

The  glorious  trio,  behold  they  are  coming  ! 

Their  heralds  are  standing  e'en  now  at  your  door : 
Go  tell  the  lone  watchers  of  earth,  they  are  coming 
To  bless  us — be  with  us — forsake  us  no  more. 
<;  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest !" 

And  the  people  shall  answer,  "  Amen  !" 
Columbia's  guardian  angels 
Return  to  their  empire  again. 

The  banner  hangs  high  in  the  heavens, 

The  beacon  commences  to  burn  ; 
The  shout  of  the  freedman  goes  upward, 

To  welcome  their  waited  return.     (Chorus.) 
The  stronghold  of  Tyranny  trembles — 

Her  minions  retire  in  dismay, 
Like  specters  that  fade  in  the  darkness, 

Before  the  arrival  of  day.  (Chorus.) 

They  bring  us  the  place  among  nations, 

Our  ancestors  gave  us  before  ; 
The  birthright  that  some  would  have  bartered, 

They  now  in  its  fullness  restore.     (Chorus.) 

They  bring  us  that  blessing  of  blessings, 
Which  few  were  yet  looking  to  see — 

A  firm  and  unchangeable  Union, 

In  fact,  as  in  theory,  free  !  (Chorus.) 


53 


It's  no  use  teasing  Polly. 

'Twas  on  a  summer's  clay, 

I  met  young  Polly  Gray, 

The  pride  of  the  village  green, 

A  blooming  girl  they  say, 

There's  none  can  her  outvie, 

She's  never  pert,  or  shy ; 

The  queen  of  hearts,  oh,  such  a  queen ! 

And  that's  the  reason  why 

I  dearly  love  my  Polly, 

Some  folks  may  call  it  folly  ; 

With  hearts  so  true — twixt  me  and  you, 

It's  no  use  teasing  Polly. 

Tes  !  Polly  pledged  her  love 
To  me,  down  by  yon  grove ; 
And  ever  true  you  may  rely, 
Our  plighted  vows  shall  prove. 
So  lovers  take  your  cue, 
There's  not  a  chance  for  yon  ; 
In  faith,  there's  no  one  can  deny — 
But  that's  a  reason,  too  ! 
I  dearly  love,  etc. 

One  day  she'll  be  my  bride, 
And  I  shall  own  with  pride 
The  maid  I  won  in  summer  time, 
At  balmy  eventide. 
Our  wedding  it  shall  be 
At  the  church  of  St.  Maby,  * 

Where  oft  we've  heard  the  sweet  bells  chime, 
In  all  their  merry  glee  ! 
I  dearly  love,  etc. 


54 


The  Music  Store  Window. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

As  I  was  straying  through  the  streets, 

As  people  often  do,  sir ! 
Oh,  something  rich  attracted  me, 

It  was  a  music  winder! 
I  stood  and  gazed  upon  the  scene, 

The  titles  were  so  queer ; 
Their  funny  names  and  quaint  designs 

You'd  laugh  to  see  and  hear  !  [nade, 

Just  take  a  peep !  just  take  a  peep  !  whene'er  you  prome- 
And  look  into  a  window  where  music  is  displayed. 

I  saw  the  name  of  "  Sally  Come  Up," 

The  "  Cure,"  and  "  Rat  Catcher's  Daughter  !" 
"  "When  Johnny  comes  marching  home  again," 

"  I  really  think  He'd  Oughter  !" 
"  Ever  of  Thee,"  the  "  Maiden's  Prayer," 

"  Kiss  me  quick  and  go ;" 
"  Selections  from  the  Hopera, 

"  Arranged  for  the  Piano."  (Chorus.) 

"  Who'd  a  thought  of  Seeing  You  ?" 

"  Sparking  Sunday  Night,"  sir  ! 
"  Babylon  is  Fallen,"  sure, 

"  Angels  Ever  Bright,"  sir  . 
Then  "  We'll  Fight  for  Uncle  Abe,w 

"  Break  It  Gently  to  My  Mother," 
"  Is  it  Anybody's  Business  ?" 

"  Let  us  Love  One  another  !"  (Chorda.) 

"  ^Te're  Tenting  on  the  Old  Camp  Ground," 
"  The  Captain  with  his  Whiskers," 

II  Go  Way,  Black-Man,"  "  Nellie  Grey," 

*  Faust,"  and  "  Sicilian  Vespers." 


55 


11  Rock  Me  To  Sleep,"  "  Marching  Along," 

"  What  Are  the  Men  About  ?" 
u  Lilly  Dale,"  and  *  Annie  Lisle," 

u  Does  Your  Mother  Know  You're  Out  ?" 

**  Happy  Octogenarian," 

M  The  Sunbeam  Gilds  the  Valley," 
"  Abraham's  Draft,"  "  Jeff.  Davis'  Dream," 

And  "  Rally  !  Boys,  Rally  !" 
M  Kitty  Wells,"  and  "  Jenny  Lorn," 

u  With  Maggie  By  My  Side," 
Oh  !  "  How  Are  You,  Conscript  ?" 

And  the  *  Merry  Sleigh  Ride."        (Chorus.) 

"  Kingdom  Coming,"  "  Shoulder  Arms  !" 

"  Cruelty  to  Johnny," 
"  Lanergan's  Ball,"  u  Bully  for  You  !" 

And  u  Japanese  Tommy." 
Now  these  are  all  that  took  my  eye, 

But  many  more  you'll  see, 
And  if  you  don't  believe  it's  so, 

Just  come  along  with  me  !  (Chorus.) 


Mermaid's  Song. 


Follow,  follow  through  the  sea, 

To  the  mermaid's  melody: 

Safely,  freely  shalt  thou  range, 

Through  things  dreadful,  quaint  and  ftrange, 

And  through  liquid  walls  behold 

"Wonders  that  may  not  be  told, 

Treasures  too  for  ages  lost, 

Gems  surpassing  human  cost, 

Fearless,  follow,  follow  me, 

Through  the  treasures  of  the  sea. 


56 


De  day  ob  Liberty's  comin'. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root   &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers? 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Darkeys,  don't  you  see  de  light, 

De  day  ob  liberty's  comin',  comin', 
Almost  gone  de  gloomy  night, 

De  day  ob  liberty's  comin'. 
Hi !  ho  !  de  darkeys  sing, 
Loud  !  loud  !  dar  voices  ring, 
Good  news  de  Lord  he  bring, 

"  Now  let  my  people  go  !" 
Chorus — Just  you  look  and  see  dat  light ! 

De  day  ob  liberty's  comin',  comin', 
Almost  gone  de  gloomy  night, 
De  day  ob  liberty's  comin'. 
De  Union  folks  dey  wait  so  long, 

We  tink  dey  neber  was  comin',  comin', 
And  secesh  he  get  so  strong 

We  tink  dey  neber  was  comin'. 
Now  Uncle  Abe  he  say, 

Come,  Massa,  while  you  may, 
And  for  de  slave  we'll  pay, 

For  we  must  let  him  go. 
White  folks  let  us  help  ye  trou, 

De  day  ob  liberty's  comin',  comin,J 
We  can  fight  and  die  for  you, 

De  day  ob  liberty's  comin'. 
Yes  !  yes  !  we'll  shout  and  sing, 

Loud  !  loud  !  our  voices  ring, 
Soon  !  soon  !  de  mighty  King 

Will  let  his  people  go. . 
Oh  de  Lord  will  bring  it  right 

De  day  ob  liberty's  comin',  comin', 


From  dis  drefful  blood}-  fight, 
De  day  ob  liberty's  comin' ; 

Shout,  darkies,  shout  and  sing, 
Loud  let  your  voices  ring, 

Soon !  soon  !  de  mighty  King 
Will  let  his  people  go. 


Little  Alice. 

Copied  by  permission   of  Root   &  Cady,   Music  Publishers, 
95  "Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Happy,  loving,  little  Alice, 

With  her  soft  and  sunny  curls, 
In  the  cottage  or  the  palace, 

She  is  still  the  queen  of  girls  ! 
In  her  young  and  guileless  bosom, 

Only  infant  thoughts  repose  ; 
Though  we  often  call  her  Blossom, 

Years  must  make  the  bud  a  rose. 
Playful,  winning,  artless  Alice, 

Had  I  power  to  drink  to  thee 
From  some  fairy's  nectared  chalice 

In  a  draught  all  rich  and  free, 
I  would  wish  thee  days  of  gladness, 

Nights  of  slumber  deep  and  calm, 
And  no  transient  hour  of  sadness 

But  should  find  a  healing  balm. 

Oh,  my  tender,  timid  Alice, 

There  i3  no  such  lot  for  thee  ! 
Thou  must  tread  life's  solemn  valleys, 

Thou  must  all  its  anguish  see ! 
May  a  light  still  shine  before  thee, 

Through  the  journe}'  dark  and  cold, 
And  our  God  at  last  restore  thee 

To  the  blessed  shepherd's  fold. 


58 

In  this  old  Chair  my  Father  sat. 

In  this  old  chair  my  father  sat, 

In  this  my  mother  smiled  ; 
I  hear  their  blessings  on  me  wait, 

And  feel  myself  a  child ; 
I  feel  the  kiss  of  their  fond  love, 

Oh,  joy  !  oh,  joy  too  bright  to  last ; 
All !  why  will  cruel  time  remove 

Or  memory  paint  the  past  ? 
And  here,  alas  !  when  they  were  gone. 

In  beauty's  own  array, 
A  pitying  angel  on  me  shone, 

To  chase  each  grief  away ; 
But  oh  !  it  was  delusive  love, 

Alas  !  too  sweet,  too  pure  to  last, 
And  if  such  dreamtime  must  remove, 

Why,  memory,  paint  the  past  ? 


El  love  thee  as  long  as  I  live. 

I'll  love  thee  as  long  as  I  live, 

But  when  that  brief  season  is  o'er, 
Oh  !   do  not  despairingly  grieve, 

For  him  who  can  love  thee  no  more. 
I  know  if  I  bid  thee  forget, 

Thou  wilt  tell  me  the  thought  was  unkind  ; 
Thou  wilt  say  that  each  spot  where  we  met, 
Must  recall  all  thy  love  to  my  mind. 
Chorus — I'll  love  thee  as  long  as  I  live, 

But  when  that  brief  season  is  o'er. 
Oh  !  do  not  despairingly  grieve, 

For  him  who  can  love  thee  no  more. 

But  thou  art  too  young  for  despair, 
Too  gentle  with  frowns  to  repay, 


59 


The  smile  of  the  fond  and  the  fair, 

Who  would  fain  chase  thy  first  grief  away. 

Thou  wilt  think  of  me  sometimes,  I  know, 
With  a  kindness  new  friends  can  not  claim  ; 

If  such  thought  could  make  thy  tears  flow, 
I'd  have  thee  ne'er  think  of  my  name. 


Mother's  Gentle  Voice. 

My  thoughts  oft  turn  with  tender  love, 

To  happy  moments  fled  ; 
And  o'er  my  spirit,  sweet,  sad  tones, 

Their  holy  influence  shed  ; 
They  seem  so  kind,  so  full  of  love, 

I  feel  my  heart  rejoice, 
For  well  I  know  the  music  of 

My  mother's  gentle  voice. 

Through  fleeting  years  of  joy  and  grief, 

The  lights  and  shadows  come, 
And  memory  wakes  the  silent  chords, 

To  happy  scenes  of  home  j 
Where  gathering  round  the  old  hearthstone, 

Those  tones  fell  on  my  ear, 
Of  one  I  loved  the  most  of  all, 

My  mother,  mother  dear. 

Xow  o'er  her  grave  the  cypress  waves, 

And  flowers  their  perfume  shed, 
And  many  years  have  passed  away, 

The  spring  and  summer  fled ; 
But  while  undimmed  my  memory  lives, 

My  heart  will  still  rejoice, 
To  hear  the  sweet,  sad  music  of 

My  mother's  gentle  voice. 


60 


Will  you  wed  me  now  I'm  lame,  love  ? 

Copied  by  permission   of  Root   &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  your  eyes  were  dim  with  tears,  love, 

When  you  sobbed  your  last  good-by, 
As  I  proudly  marched  away,  love, 

With  my  hopes  so  strong  and  high  : 
Oh,  I  hear  your  gentle  voice  so  dear,  love, 

As  you  said,  I  will  be  true, 
And  in  danger  don't  forget,  love, 

That  I  ever  pray  for  yon. 
CnoRus—But  now  I  do  not  claim,  love^ 
The  hand  so  dear  to  me, 
For  as  you  see,  I'm  lame,  love, 
And  ever  so  must  be. 

But  my  poor  heart  could  you  know,  love, 

How  its  hopes  were  all  with  yon, 
And  that  while  we've  been  apart,  love, 

Every  pulse-beat  has  been  true ; 
And  how,  on  that  dark  and  bloody  field,  love, 

Thro'  the  night  so  lone  and  drear, 
It  was  your  sweet  face  alone,  love, 

That  my  visions  made  most  clear. 
Chorus — Yet  mark,  I  have  no  shame,  love, 
My  wounds  are  freedom's  bands. 
What  matter  though  I'm  lame,  love, 
Our  glorious  Union  stands. 

What !  your  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  love, 

And  your  lips  are  trembling,  too, 
And  you  turn  }^our  blushing  cheek,  love, 

From  my  long  and  earnest  view. 


61 


Can  I  hope  ?  Ah  no,  the  thought  is  vain,  love, 

But  the  hand,  why  conies  it  near  ? 
And  those  murmuring  words — oh,  joy,  love, 

They  have  banished  every  fear. 
Chorub — Oh  yes,  your  heart's  the  same,  love, 
In  all  that  we've  passed  through, 
You'll  wed  me,  though  I'm  lame,  lore, 
My  beautiful,  my  true. 


Five  o'clock  in  the  Morning. 

The  dew  lay  glittering  o'er  the  grass, 

A  mist  lay  over  the  brook, 
At  the  earliest  beam  of  the  golden  sun 

The  swallow  her  nest  forsook  j 
The  snowy  blooms  of  the  hawthorn  tree 

Lay  thickly  the  ground  adorning, 
The  birds  were  singing  in  every  bush, 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
And  Bessie  the  milkmaid  merrily  sung, 

The  meadows  were  fresh  and  fair, 
And  the  breeze  of  morning  kissed  her  brow, 

And  played  with  her  nut-brown  hair. 
But  oft  she  turned,  and  looked  around, 

As  if  the  silence  scorning, 
'Twas  time  for  the  mower  to  whet  his  scythe, 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
And  over  the  meadows  the  mowers  came, 

And  merry  their  voices  rung, 
And  one  among  them  wended  his  way, 

To  where  the  milkmaid  sung. 
And  as  he  lingered  by  her  side, 

Despite  his  comrades'  warning, 
The  old,  old  stor}-  was  told  again, 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning. 


63 

"Farmer  Stubbs'"  visit  to  New  York. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
333  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Air— "  Trip  to  Niagara  Falls." 

Ttfe  barn  was  full  of  new-mown  hay, 
The  fruit  was  picked  and  packed  away ; 
When  on  a  sort  of  fallish  day, 
I  went  to  Gotham  by  rail,  ma'rm ; 
I  found  the  car  mid  dust  and  heat, 
And  gladly  took  a  corner  seat, 
Threw  back  my  head,  drew  up  my  feet, 
And  thought  my  happiness  complete, 
When  farmer  Stubbs  and  wife  sailed  in, 
With  three  grown  daughters,  tall  and  thin, 
And  shining  like  a  bran-new  pin, 
Came  bubby  Stubbs  to  swell  the  din. 

Farmer  Stubbs—"  Come.  Debby,  (Deborah,  I  sheuld  say.)  set 
right  down  here,  never  mind  the  gentleman's  coat,  it'll  do  for 
a  cusliin  !  Come,  Jerusha,  and  Sary  Ann,  crowd  in  ;  Mehitabel, 
bring  bubby  along!"  Bubby  Stubbs—"  Oh.  pa!  what  an  awful 
noise  !  suinthin's  a  buatin1  I,V  Farrier  Stubbs—"  No.  no,  child  ! 
that  ain't  no  biler  bustin' !  that's  the  injinc  whis'lin'  !'"  Mrs. 
Stubbs— "Do  you  know  what  you  been  doin',  Mr.  Stubbs? 
You've  shet  the  corner  of  our  Jerusha's  new  yellow  shawl  into 
the  green  band-box,  you  careless  man  !  Jerusha  !  tend  to  that 
child!"  Jerusha—"  Bubby  Stubbs,  didn't  you  bring  no  pockit 
hankercher?    You  must  be  good,  or  you  won't  go  and  see  the—" 

Chorus. — Dashing,  crashing,  night  and  day, 
Bustling,  rustling,  in  Broadway, 
Crowds  of  people  bright  and  gay, 
On  this  trip  to  Gotham  by  rail,  ma'rm. 

The  iron  horse  did  pant  and  scream ! 
The  engineer  put  on  the  steam, 
"We  started  in  our  lightning  team, 
En  route  for  Gotham,  by  rail,  ma'rm ; 


63 

We  reached  New  York  at  half-past  four, 

The  ladies  rushing  to  the  door, 

While,  added  to  the  general  roar 

The  wind  did  blow,  the  rain  did  pour. 

v'  A  carriage,  sir?''  the  coachman  cried ! 

u  St.  Nicholas,"  we  soon  replied, 

And  when  we  reached  the  portals  wide 

The  Stubbses  swelled  the  living  tide. 

Bookkeeper— "Waiter !  show  Mr,  Stubbs  and  family  to 
rooms  No.  50).''  Mr.  Stubbs— "  Is't  on  the  first  floor,  sir?" 
Waitkp. — "No,  nol  it's  on  the  sixth  floor. "  Mrs.  Stubbs — 
"In  the  sixth  story,  is  it?  Me.  Mrs.  Stubbs!  Deborah  Drake 
that  was.  of  Drakeville,  shet  up  in  the  sixth  story  of  a  New 
York  boardin1  house  !  Oh!  Andrew  Jackson  Stubbs!  you  sez 
to  me,  Debby,  sez  you!  you  never  would  call  me  Mrs.  Stubbs ; 
Debby.  sez  you,  maybe  you'd  like  to  take  a  trip  to  New  York 
aud  see  the— " 

Chorus — Dashing,  crashing,  etc. 

And  now  arrived,  on  pleasure  bent, 
To  see  the  sights  we  were  intent : 
To  Taylors  grand  saloon  we  went, 
On  our  trip  to  Gotham  by  rail,  ma'rm ; 
We  took  a  turn  in  Central  Park, 
We  saw  the  City  Hall  by  dark, 
Fine  dashing  belles  and  men  of  mark 
Were  bright  and  lively  as  the  lark ; 
The  flowiiig  Hudson  clear  and  blue, 
The  lofty  Highlands  all  in  view, 
With  rocks  of  every  shape  and  hue, 
And  Knickerbockers  not  a  few. 

Mrs.  Stubbs— "Oh  dear  me!  just  tew  think  that  I  should 
consent  to  let  them  innocent  pals  come  into  this  orful  city  ■ 
and  tew  think  I  should  ever  live  to  see  our  Sally  Ann  toted 
acrost  the  street  by  a  great  burly  feller  like  that.  He  took  hold 
of  my  arm  fust,  but  sez  I  to  him,  lNo  sir.'  sez  I.  'I'm  a  respect- 
able woman,  pot  a  husband  and  would  thank  you  to  let  me  be.' 
I  have  heard  tell  before  now,  how  wicked  men  carry  off  poor 


suspecting  wimmen  in  New  York.1'  Mr.  Stubbs — "Hark! 
Debby,  what  is  all  that  hollering  about  ?  Auctioneer—41  Goins, 
gentlemen,  at  twenty  dollars  ;  will  you  stand  by  and  see  a  gold 
watch  like  this  go  for  twenty  dollars?  Going;  going;  at 
twenty:  twenty!  shall  I  have  five  ?  at  twenty -five  ;  twenty-five! 
Going!"  Mrs.  Stubbs— "Poor  man!  he's  failed,  I  know  he 
has,  how  red  and  excited  he  looks  ;  How  I  pity  him  !  Do  bid 
once,  Mr.  Stubbs.  Mr,  Stubbs—"  Thirty  dollars,  sir.  Come, 
Mrs.  Stubbs,  now  we'll  go  and  see  the — " 

Chorus — Dashing,  crashing,  etc. 

On  fair  Hoboken's  sylvan  shore, 
We  spent  a  pleasant  hour  or  more, 
Far  from  the  city's  stirring  roar, 
On  this  trip  to  Gotham  by  rail,  ma'rm, 
We  saw  the  Great  Eastern  sight, 
The  big  balloon  before  its  flight, 
But  where  the  monster  did  alight, 
It  is  beyond  our  power  to  indite. 
In  point  of  comfort  and  good  fare, 
For  true  politeness,  beauty  rare, 
The  Gothamites,  I  do  declare, 
Can  beat  the  people  everywhere. 

Mehitabel— l;  Oh!  pa,  see,  there's  the  New  York  meetin' 
house.  Cousin  Sally  Drake  told  me  she  worked  next  door  to  it." 
Mr.  Stubbs— "Hush,  Hitty,  it's  likely  there's  more  than  one 
meetin'  house  in  New  York,  and  there's  half  a  dozen  or  more." 
(Bnbby  Stubbs  cries.)  Mrs.  Stubbs—'*  Bubby,  be  a  good  boy, 
you  are  going  to  Stewart's  Palace  and  Barnum's  Museum,  tQ 
iee  the  wild  creturs  and  the  wax  figgers  and  all  the  other  pooiy 
things."    Mr.  Stubbs— Yes,  dear,  and  you  shall  see  the — " 

Chorus — Dashing,  crashing,  night  and  day, 
Bustling,  rustling,  in  Broadway, 
Crowds  of  people  bright  and  gay, 
On  this  trip  to  Gotham  by  rail,  ma'rm. 


13EAX>Lli:'8S 


Song  Book 


No.  15. 

A.  COLLECTION  OF  NEW  AND  POPULA* 

COMIC  AND  SENTIMENTAL 

SONGS. 


NEW    YORK:    118    WILLIAM    STREET. 

GENERAL  DIME  BOOK  PUBLISHERS. 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE. 

The  music,  with  pianoforte  arrangement,  of  any  of  the 
songs  in  Beadle's  Dime  Song  Books,  can  be  obtained  of,  or 
ordered  through,  any  regular  News  or  Periodical  dealer ;  or 
by  forwarding  twenty-five  cents,  direct  to  the  publishers, 
whose  names  and  address  are  attached  to  many  of  the  pieces, 
the  music  will  be  sent  by  mail,  post-paid. 

Beadle  and  Company. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864, 

By  BEADLE  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 

for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 

(S.  B.  15.) 


CONTENTS  No.   15. 


PAGE. 

And  home  I  came  merry  at  last,     -        -        -        -61 

Bachelor's  lament,       - 47 

Charming  Lizzie  Clay, 48 

Come  home,  father,     -        -        •        -        -        -  34 

Comrades,  touch  the  elbow, 9 

Cora  Dean, 57 

De  old  corn -mill, 33 

De  United  States  hotel, 4C 

Do  they  pray  for  me  at  home?       -        -        -        -21 

For  Phil.  Sheridan,  hurrah,         ....  35 

Friends  of  the  Union, 51 

God  save  John  Bull, 49 

Go  way,  black  man, 28 

How  are  you,  conscript, 23 

How  do  you  like  it.  Jefferson  D.  ?  -        -        -        -  16 

I  am  lonely  to-night, 13 

I  hear  sweet  voices  singing,    -        -        -        -        -  25 

I'm  a  young  man  from  the  country,  60 

Is  that  mother  bending  o'er  me  ?    -        -        -        -  11 

Kate  O-'  Shane, 53 

Lay  me  down  and  save  the  flag,    -        -        -        -  52 

Let  me  die  face  to  the  foe, 30 

Lora  Vale, 17 

Mouy  Doolan, 64 

Mother,  when  the  war  is  over,       -        -        -        -26 

Mount,  boys,  mount, 45 

My  beautiful  Lizzie, 44 

My  country  so  dear, 29 

Mv  own,  mv  guiding  star, 63 

My  Pollv  Ann, 50 

Nancy  Fat, 10 

Nellie  Lee, 27 

Oh,  let  him  rest, 20 

Oh,  take  me  to  thy  heart  again,           ...  55 


CONTEXTS    NO.    15. 


PAGE. 

Oh,  why  did  you  die?                                               -  62 

Old  cabin  home, 8 

Ole  massa  on  he  trabbels  gone,       -        -        -        -  58 

Our  color-guard,  - 15 

Sally,  come  up, 63 

Sambo's  right  to  be  kilt, 12 

Shall  we  ever  meet  again  ?              •        -        -        -  31 

Song  of  the  soldiers,    ------  56 

Stand  by  the  flag, 46 

Swinging  in  the  lane, 24 

Tenting  on  the  old  camp-ground,  -        -        -        -  14 

The  bird-song, 19 

The  blue-eyed  boy,         -        -        -        -               ~-  43 . 

The  cracksman's  chant, 32 

The  invalid  corps, 7 

The  little  brown  cot, 59 

The  new  skedaddle  song, 22 

The  snow-white  blossoms, 37 

The  swords  were  thirty-seven,        -        -        -        -  42 

The  troubadour, 39 

The  untamable  shrew, 38 

'Twas  off  the  blue  Canaries,  36 

We  shall  be  known  above, 54 

When  Johnny  comes  marching  home,  18 

When  the  boys  come  home, 5 

You  don't  know  how  we've  missed  you,    -        -  6 


BEADLE'S 

DIME  SONG  BOOK  No.  15. 


When  the  Boys  come  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Sawter&  Thompson,  Music  Publisher!, 
59  Fulton  avenue,  Brooklyn,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  boys  are  coming  home  again, 

This  war  will  soon  be  o'er ; 
The  North  and  South  again  will  stand 

United  as  of  yore ; 
Yes,  hand  in  hand,  and  arm  in  arm, 

Together  we  will  roam ; 
Oh,  won't  we  have  a  happy  time, 

When  all  the  boys  come  home. 
Chorus — 'We'll  hoist  the  good  old  flag  again, 
On  freedom's  lofty  dome ; 

And  live  in  peace  and  happiness, 
When  all  the  boys  come  home. 
We'll  have  no  x*\ore  false  hopes  and  fears, 

No  more  heartrending  sighs — 
The  messenger  of  peace  will  dry 

The  weary  mourner's  eyes ; 
We'll  laugh  and  sing,  we'll  dance  and  play — 

Ah,  wait  until  they  come, 
And  joy  will  crown  the  happy  day 

When  all  the  boys  come  home. 
How  proud  the  nation  then  will  stand  I 

United  evermore, 
We'll  bid  defiance  to  the  foe 

That  dare  approach  our  shore ; 


"We'll  hoist  the  good  old  flag  again 
On  freedom's  lofty  dome, 

And  live  in  peace  and  happiness 
When  all  the  boys  come  home. 


You  don't  know  how  we' ve  missed  you. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Sawyer  &  Thompson/MusIc  Publishers, 
59  Fulton  avenue,  Brooklyn,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

You  don't  know  how  we  miss  you,  dear, 

How  long  the  days  now  seem ; 
Our  once  contented,  cheerful  home, 

Is  as  a  faded  dream ; 
Your  dear  old  father,  all  the  day, 

Does  nothing  else  but  mourn ; 
At  night  he  dreams  you're  home  again, 

But  wakes  to  find  you  gone. 

Your  mother — oh,  if  you  could  see 

How  gray  her  locks  have  grown ; 
How  deep  the  "  care-marks "  on  her  brow, 

And  sorrowful  her  tone ; 
We  try  to  cheer  her  weary  heart, 

But  find  'tis  all  in  vain ; 
She  for  a  moment  faintly  smiles 

But  soon  is  sad  again. 

Yes,  darling,  you  but  little  know 

How  changed  and  sad  is  home ; 
All  thoughts  of  joy  and  happiness 

Have  faded,  vanished,  gone ; 
The  little  birds  yet  sweetly  sing 

And  flowers  bloom  as  gay, 
But  we  are  lonely,  sorrowful 

While  you  are  far  away. 


The  Invalid  Corps. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Henry  Tolman&  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
291  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  wanted  much  to  go  to  war, 
And  went  to  be  examined ; 
The  surgeon  looked  me  o'er  and  o'er, 
My  back  and  chest  he  hammered ; 
Said  he :  "  You're  not  the  man  for  me, 

Your  lungs  are  much  affected, 
And  likewise  both  your  eyes  are  cocked, 
And  otherwise  defected." 
Chorus — So  now  I'm  with  the  invalids, 

And  can  not  go  and  fight,  sir ; 

The  doctor  told  me  so,  you  know, 

Of  course  it  must  be  right,  sir. 

While  I  was  there,  a  host  of  chaps 

For  reasons  were  exempted ; 
Old  "  pursy,"  he  was  laid  aside, 

To  pass  he  had  attempted ; 
The  doctor  said  :  "  I  do  not  like 

Your  corporosity,  sir ; 
You'll  ■  breed  a  famine '  in  the  camp, 

Wherever  you  might  be,  sir." 

There  came  a  fellow,  mighty  tall, 

A  knock-kneed  over-growner ; 
The  doctor  said  :  "  I  ain't  got  time 

To  take  and  look  you  over." 
Next  came  along  a  little  chap, 

Who  was  about  two-foot-nothing ; 
The  doctor  said  :  "  You'd  better  go 

And  tell  your  marin  you're  coming." 


Some  had  the  ticerdolerreon, 

Some  what  they  call  "  brown  critters," 
And  some  were  lank  and  lazy  too, 

Some  were  too  "  fond  of  bitters ;" 
Some  had  u  cork  legs,"  and  some  "  one  eye," 

With  backs  deformed  end  crooked ; 
I'll  bet  you'd  laughed  till  you  had  cried, 

To  see  how  "cute"  they  looked 


The  Old  Cabin  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Henry  Tolman  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
291  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  am  going  far  away, 

Far  away  to  leave  you  now, 
To  the  Mississippi  river  I  am  going ; 

I  will  take  my  old  banjo, 

And  I'll  sing  this  little  song, 
Away  down  in  my  old  cabin  home. 
Chorus — Here  is  my  old  cabin  home, 

Here  is  my  sister  and  my  brother ; 

Here  lies  my  wife,  the  joy  of  my  life, 
And  my  child  in  the  grave  with  its  mother 

When  old  age  comes  on, 

And  my  hair  is  turning  gray, 
I  will  hang  up  the  banjo  all  alone ; 

I'll  set  down  by  the  fire, 

And  I'll  pass  the  time  away, 
Away  down  in  my  old  cabin  home, 

Tis  there  where  I  roam, 

Away  down  on  de  old  farm, 
Where  all  the  darkies  am  free  ; 

Oh,  merrily  sound  de  banjo, 

For  de  white  folks  round  de  room 
Away  down  in  my  old  cabin  home. 


Comrades,  touch  the  Elbow. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Ftrth,  Sox  &  Co.,  Mnsic  Publishers, 
563  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

"WTien  battle's  music  greets  our  ear, 
Our  guns  are  sighted  on  the  foe , 

Then  nerve  the  arm  and  banish  fear, 
And,  comrades,  touch  the  elbow. 

CHORUS. 

Touch  the  elbow  now,  my  boys. 

Comrades,  touch  the  elbow ; 
Nerve  the  arm  and  banish  fear, 

And,  comrades,  touch  the  elbow 


For  home  and  country,  patriot's  fire 
Kindle  cur  souls  with  fervid  glow, 

And  southern  traitors  shall  retire 
When  northmen  touch  the  elbow 

Though  many  brave  men  bite  the  sod. 
And  crimson  heart's  blood  freely  flow, 

Shout  as  our  spirit  soars  above — 
On,  comrades  !  touch  the  elbow  ! 

Though  cannon-ball  may  plow  the  rank, 
And  though  it  cast  a  deadly  glow, 

Fill  up  the  space  the  ball  made  blank, 
And,  comrades,  touch  the  elbow. 

Now  show  the  stuff  of  which  you're  made, 
The  general  signal,  M  March  !"     Hallo  ! 

Double  the  quickstep,  Third  Brigade  ! 
Charge  !     Comrades,  touch  the  elbow  ! 


10 

Nancy  Fat. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Poitd  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher!, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  Nancy  Fat,  she  was  a  gal, 

Fair  and  tall  and  slender, 

The  fairest  gal  I  ever  saw, 

In  all  the  female  gender ; 

A  lovely  foot  I  know  she  had, 

Into  a  boot  to  thrust, 

Her  ankles  small  were  made  for  use, 

To  keep  from  it  the  dust. 

Czjorus — Oh,  Nancy  Fat,  what  are  you  at  ? 

I  love  you  as  no  other ; 

Oh,  Nancy  Fat,  get  out  #f  that, 

"With  sweetness  me  you'll  smother. 

Oh,  Nancy  Fat,  she  had  a  mouth, 

I  can  not  now  describe  it, 
It  opened  like  a  safety-valve, 

When  she  wished  to  divide  it ; 
And  well  I  knows  she  had  a  nose, 

And  ev'rybody  knows  it, 
The  end  of  it  just  looks  as  if 

The  brandy  bottle  froze  it. 

Oh,  Nancy  Fat  had  two  such  eyes, 

Like  burnt  holes  in  a  blanket, 
The  inspiration  from  her  soul 

I  took  it  in  and  drank  it ; 
She  says  this  darkey  am  so  sweet, 

She  loves  me  like  molasses ; 
Dat  small  machine  she  calls  her  heart, 

Goes  pit  pat  as  it  passes. 


11 

If  Nancy  Fat  does  many  mc, 

How  nice  we'll  live  together, 
She  and  I  and  all  de  bairns, 

Like  ducks  in  rainy  weather ; 
And  as  we  march  unto  de  church. 

And  hear  de  bells  a  ringing 
De  joy  will  break  dis  niggar's  heart, 

To  hear  de  darkies  singing. 


Is  that  Mother  bending  o'er  me? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oltveh  Ditsox  &  Co.,  Music  Pub!  ishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Is  that  mother  bending  o'er  me, 

As  she  sung  my  cradle  hymn, 
Kneeling  there  in  tears  before  me  ? 

Say  !  my  sight  is  growing  dim. 
Comes  she  from  the  old  home  lowly, 

Out  among  the  Northern  hills, 
To  her  pet  boy,  dying  slowly 

Of  war's  battle-wounds  and  ills  ? 

Mother  !  oh,  we  bravely  battled — 

Battled  till  the  day  was  done, 
While  the  leaden  hail-storm  rattledr— 

Man  to  man,  and  gun  to  gun. 
But  we  failed,  and  I  am  dying — 

Dying  in  my  boyhood's  years ; 
There — no  weeping,  self-denying — 

Noble  deaths  demand  no  tears. 

Fold  your  arms  again  around  mc ; 

Press  again  my  aching  head  ; 
Sing  the  lullaby  you  sung  me ; 

Kiss  me,  mother,  ere  I'm  dead. 


12 


Sambo's  Right  to  be  Kilt. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Son,  Music  Publishers, 
543  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Some  tell  me  'tis  a  burnin'  shame, 

To  make  the  naygers  fight, 
And  that  the  trade  of  bein,  kilt 

Belongs  but  to  the  white ; 
But  as  for  me,  upon  my  sowl 

So  lib'ral  are  we  here, 
I'd  let  Sambo  be  shot  instead  of  myself, 

On  ev'ry  day  in  the  year ; 
On  ev'ry  day  in  the  year,  boys, 

And  in  every  hour  in  the  day, 
The  right  to  be  kilt  I'll  divide  with  him, 

And  devil  a  word  I'll  say. 

In  battle's  wild  commotion, 

I  shouldn't  at  all  object, 
If  Sambo's  body  should  stop  a  ball 

That's  comin'  for  me  direct ; 
And  the  prod  of  a  southern  bagnet, 

So  ginerous  are  we  here, 
I'll  resign  and  let  Sambo  take  it, 

On  ev'ry  day  in  the  year ; 
On  ev'ry  day  in  the  year,  boys, 

And  wid  none  iv  your  nasty  pride, 
All  my  rights  in  a  southern  bagnet  prod, 

Wid  Sambo  I'll  divide. 

The  men  who  object  to  Sambo, 
Should  take  his  place  and  fight ; 

And  it's  better  to  have  a  nayger's  hue, 
Than  a  liver  that's  wake  and  white , 


13 


Though  Sambo's  black  as  the  ace  of  spades, 

Ilis  fingers  a  trigger  can  pull ; 
And  his  eye  runs  straight  on  the  barrel-sight, 

From  under  its  thatch  of  wool ; 
On  ev'ry  day  in  the  year,  boys, 

Don't  think  that  I'm  tippin'  you  chaff, 
The  right  to  be  kilt  we'll  divide  with  him,  boys, 

And  give  him  the  largest  half. 


I  am  Lonely  To-Night. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wx.  A.  Pond  <fc  Co.,  Music  Publisher!, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  am  lonely  to-night  in  my  sad  little  chamber, 

While  the  stars  sweetly  shine  upon  all  I  hold  dear  ; 
They  are  gone  from  their  home  with  the  bold,  fear- 
less ranger, 

There's  a  void  in  my  heart,  for  they  are  not  here ; 
Oh,  why  did  they  leave  me  alone  and  deserted, 

To  risk  their  dear  lives  on  the  blood-sprinkled  plain  ? 
Should  they  never  return  this  poor  heart  will  soon  wither 

And  never  know  joy  or  comfort  again. 

CHORUS. 

I  am  lonely  to-night/  I'm  lonely  to-night, 

While  the  stars  sweetly  shine  upon  all  I  hold  dear, 

I  am  lonely,  I'm  lonely  to-night. 

I  am  lonely  to-night,  but  ere  spring  birds  shall  warble 

Their  niatinal  song  in  the  wild  forest  tree, 
And  the  bright  limpid  brook  with  sweet  music  shall 
babble, 

My  heart  will  grow  lighter  while  thinking  of  thee  ; 
Then  fleet  by,  dull  hours,  and  bring  back  the  loved  ones, 

Who  parted  from  friends  with  a  tear-moistened  eye, 
For  then  this  sad  heart  will  no  longer  be  lonely, 

But  joyous  and  happy  as  the  calm  azure  sky. 


14 


Tenting  on  the  Old  Camp  Ground. 

Copied  by  permission  of  OliterDitson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

We're  tenting  to-night  on  the  old  camp  ground, 

Give  us  a  song  to  cheer 
Our  weary  hearts,  a  song  of  home 
And  friends  we  love  so  dear. 
Chorus — Many  are  the  hearts  that  are  weary  to-night, 
Wishing  for  the  war  to  cease ; 
Many  are  the  hearts  looking  for  the  right, 

To  see  the  dawn  of  peace — 
Tenting  to-night,  tenting  to-night, 
Tenting  on  the  old  camp  ground. 

We've  been  tenting  to-night  on  the  old  camp  ground, 

Thinking  of  days  gone  by ; 
Of  the  loved  ones  at  home  that  gave  us  the  hand, 

And  the  tear  that  said  "  good-by." 

We  are  tired  of  war  on  the  old  camp  ground, 

Many  are  dead  and  gone, 
Of  the  brave  and  true  who've  left  their  homes, 

Others  been  wounded  long. 

We've  been  fighting  to-day  on  the  old  camp  ground, 

Many  are  lying  near ; 
Some  are  dead  and  some  are  dying, 
Many  are  in  tears. 
Chorus — Many  are  the  hearts  that  are  weary  to-night, 
Wishing  for  the  war  to  cease ; 
Many  are  the  hearts  looking  for  the  right, 

To  see  the  dawn  of  peace — 
Dying  to-night,  dying  to-night, 
Dying  on  the  old  eamp  ground. 


15 


Our  Color  Guard. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
72*2  Chestnut  street,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Now  onward,  onward,  let  it  wave, 

Amid  the  cannon's  roar, 
Borne  by  the  noble  and  the  brave, 

Through  streams  of  crimson  gore ; 
Amid  the  battle's  fiercest  strife, 

There  ever  let  it  be, 
And  guard  it  with  devoted  life, 

That  standard  of  the  free. 

Chorus — Hurrah,  boys,  hurrah,  boys ! 
Hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah  ! 
Onwsrrd^  onward,  ever  be 
Our  color  guard  supplied. 

^ 

"  Stand  by  those  colors !"  many  an  eye 

Is  looking  up  to-day, 
To  see  that  glorious  emblem  fly 

Where  danger  checks  the  way ; 
"  Stand  by  those  colors  P  many  a  soul 

Will  gain  new  strength  to  die, 
If  in  the  red  tide's  fiercest  roll 

Those  colors  proudly  fly. 

On,  color  guard  1     Oh,  noble,  brave, 

How  one  by  one  they  fall ; 
But  not  their  fate,  nor  yet  the  grave, 

Our  brave  lads  can  appall ; 
Now  from  the  ranks  leap  eagerly, 

Like  groom  to  meet  his  bride, 
A  score  of  volunteers — and  see  ! 
•   Our  color  guard  supplied. 


16 


How  do  you  like  it,  Jefferson  D  ? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  how  do  you  like  it  as  far  at  youVe  got, 

Jefferson  D  !  Jefferson  D  ! 
Are  you  glad  you  began  it,  or  d'ye  wish  you  had  not  ? 

Jefferson,  Jefferson  D  ! 
People  say  (though  of  course  I  don't  know  that  it's  so), 
That  your  spirits  are  getting  decidedly  low, 
And  you're  sick  and  discouraged,  and  I  don't  know  what ; 
But  say,  though,  do  you  like  it  as  far  as  you've  got  ? 

Chorus — Oh,  ho  !  Jefferson  D  ! 

Things  look  rather  shaky  now, 
'Twixt  you  anff  me% 


If  I  were  in  your  place  I'd  tiy  foreign  air, 

Jefferson  D  !  Jefferson  D  ! 
And  at  once  for  a  short  trip  to  Europe  prepare, 

Jefferson,  Jefferson  D  ! 
But  as  things  are  at  present  I  don't  think  I'd  sail 
From  Charleston,  Savannah,  New  Orleans  or  Mobile ; 
But  in  order,  though  absent,  to  retain  my  command, 
I'd  just  take  an  ox-team  and  go  round  by  larfpl. 


You  can't  think  how  sorry  I  was  when  I  heard, 

Jefferson  D  !  Jefferson  D  ! 
That  your  visit  to  Washington  had  been  deferred, 

Jefferson,  Jefferson  D ! 
I  hope  that  you'll  find  it  convenient  to  come, 
When  Abe  and  the  rest  of  the  boys  are  at  home ; 
But  I  trust  you  won't  mind  it,  they're  such  a  queer  lot, 
If  they  ask  you  how  you  like  it  as  far  as  you've  got. 


r 


17 


Lora  Vale. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Mnsic  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Calmly  fell  the  silver  moonlight 

Over  hill  and  over  dale, 

As  with  mournful  hearts  we  lingered 

By  the  couch  of  Lora  Yale ; 

She  was  dying,  gentle  Lora, 

She  was  passing  like  a  sigh, 

From  a  world  of  love  and  beauty, 

To  a  brighter  world  on  high. 

<vHO«t;s — Lora,  Lora,  still  we  love  thee,  * 

Though  we  see  thy  form  no  more, 

And  we  know  thou'lt  come  to  meet  us, 

When  we  reach  the  mystic  shore. 

Brightly  dawned  the  morrow's  morning 

Over  hill  and  over  dale, 
Still  with  mournful  hearts  we  lingered 

By  the  side  of  Lora  Vale  ; 
She  was  almost  at  the  river, 

When  the  light  broke  from  the  sky, 
And  she  smiled  .and  whispered  faintly  : 

"  I  am  not  afraid  to  die." 

Softly  through  the  trellised  window 

Came  the  west  wind's  gentle  breath, 
But  she  heeded  not  its  mildness, 

For  she  slept  the  sleep  of  death  , 
And  beyond  the  silver  moonbeams, 

Ay,  beyond  the  stars  of  night, 
Now  she  dwells,  our  darling  Lora 

In  the  home  of  angels  bright. 


18 


When  Johnny  comes  Marching  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Henry  Tolmjln  &  Co., Music  Publishere, 
291  Washington  6treet,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

When  Johnny  comes  marching  home  again, 

Hurrah,  hurrah, 
"We'll  give  him  a  hearty  welcome  then, 

Hurrah,  hurrah ; 
The  men  will  cheer,  the  boys  will  shout, 
The  ladies,  they  will  all  turn  out, 

And  we'll  all  feel  gay, 
When  Johnny  comes  marching  home. 
CEfaRUS — The  men  will  cheer,  the  boys  will  shout, 

The  ladies,  they  will  all  turn  out, 
And  we'll  all  feel  gay, 

When  Johnny  comes  marching  home. 

The  old  church-bell  will  peal  with  joj 

Hurrah,  hurrah, 
To  welcome  home  our  darling  boy, 

Hurrah,  hurrah ; 
The  village  lads  and  lassies  say, 
With  roses  they  will  strew  the  way, 

And  we'll  all  feel  gay, 
When  Johnny  comes  marching  home. 

Get  ready  for  the  jubilee, 

Hurrah,  hurrah, 
We'll  give  the  hero  three  times  three, 

Hurrah,  hurrah ; 
The  laurel  wreath  is  ready  now, 
To  place  upon  his  loyal  brow, 

And  we'll  all  feel  gay, 
When  Johnny  comes  marching  home. 


19 


Let  love  and  friendship  on  that  day, 

Hurrah,  hurrah, 
Their  choicest  treasures  then  display, 

Hurrah,  hurrah ; 
And  let  each  one  perform  some  part, 
To  fill  with  joy  the  warrior's  heart, 

And  we'll  all  feel  gay, 
When  Johnny  comes  marching  home 


The  Bird  Song. 

Birdling,  why  sing  in  the  forest  wide  ? 

Say  why  !  say  why  ! 
Callest  thou  the  bridegroom  or  the  bride  ? 

And  why  ?  and  why  ? 
"  I  call  no  bridegroom,  call  no  bride, 
Although  I  sing  in  the  forest  wide, 

Nor  know  I  why  I'm  singing !" 

Birdling,  why  is  thy  heart  so  blest  ? 

Oh,  say  !  oh,  say  1 
Music  o'erflowing  from  the  breast  ? 

Oh,  say  !  oh,  say  ! 
"  My  heart  is  full,  and  yet  is  light, 
My  heart  is  glad  in  day  or  night, 

Nor  know  I  why  I'm  singing." 

Birdling,  why  sing  you  all  the  d?7  ? 

Oh,  tell !  oh,  tell ! 
Do  any  listen  to  thy  lay  ? 

Oh,  tell !  oh,  tell ! 
"  I  care  not  what  my  song  may  be, 
Now  this,  now  that,  I  warble  free, 

Nor  know,  yet  must  be  singing. 


20 


Oh,  let  him  rest. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher!, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  let  him  rest,  in  the  valley's  breast, 

Away  from  care  and  pain ; 

No  more  at  home  they'll  bid  him :  "  Come, 

With  that  sweet  voice  again." 

Yes,  let  him  sleep,  while  loved  ones  weep* 

And  whisper  sad  good-bys  : 

Their  tearful  grief  shall  find  relief, 

In  "  Dear  old  memories." 

Chorus — Then  let  him  rest  in  the  valley's  breast 

On  the  shore  of  that  beautiful  river ; 

For  the  echoes  still  of  his  harp  shall  thrill 

Our  raptured  ears  forever. 

Oh,  let  him  rest,  in  the  valley's  breast, 

Where  the  birds  he  loved  so  well, 
Shall  gladly  come  from  woodland  home, 

His  praises  sweet  to  tell ; 
The  bluebird's  note  shall  softly  float, 

In  sweetest  melody, 
As  in  days  of  yore  it  lingered  oe'r 

"  The  grave  of  Eulalie." 

Then  let  him  rest,  in  the  valley's  breast, 

His  harp  is  hushed  forever ; 
•   He's  gone  before  to  the  silent  shore, 

Where  death  no  more  can  sever ; 
And  while  we  weep  as  he  lies  asleep, 

And  fondly  breathe  his  praise, 
We'll  still  rejoice,  as  we  hear  the  voice, 

The  voice  of  "  By-gone  days." 


21 


Do  they  pray  for  me  at  Home? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  A  Co.,  Music  Publishers 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Do  they  pray  for  me  at  home  ? 

Do  they  ever  pray  for  me  ? 

When  I  ride  the  dark  sea-foam — 

When  I  cross  the  stormy  sea  ? 

Oh,  oft  in  foreign  lands, 

As  I  see  the  bended  knee. 

Comes  the  thought,  at  twilight  hour, 

Do  they  ever  pray  for  me  ? 

Chobus — Do  they  pray  for  me  at  home  ? 

Do  they  ever  pray  for  me  ? 

When  the  sun  has  gone  to  rest, 

Do  they  ever  pray  for  me  ? 

Do  they  pray  for  me  at  home, 

When  the  summer  birds  appear  ? 
Do  they  pray  for  me  the  while, 

That  my  path  may  be  less  drear  ? 
At  the  altar  of  my  youth 

Do  they  place  the  vacant  chair, 
Where  my  heart  so  oft  returns, 

To  the  loved  ones  gathered  there  ? 

Do  they  pray  for  me  at  home 

When  the  winds  of  winter  blow  ? 
Do  they  pray  for  me  with  love, 

As  they  watch  the  winters  snow  ? 
In  the  season's  chilly  cold 

Are  their  hearts  for  me  still  warm  ? 
Am  I  cherished  as  of  old, 

Through  the  beatings  of  the  storm  ? 


22 


The  New  Skedaddle  Song, 

Copied  by  permission  of   Root  &  Cadt,  Mnsic  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright- 

ril  sing  you  now  de  last  new  song 

I  heard  down  in  Secessia ; 
Til  change  de  words  a  little  mite, 

And  hope  dey  won't  distress  you ; 
'Twas  Gen'ral  Price  fus'  pitched  de  tune, 

"  Ole  Ben"  struck  in  sonorous, 
While  Bragg  and  Polk  took  up  de  strain, 
And  all  jined  in  de  chorus. 
Chorus — We  hear  it  by  night,  we  hear  it  by  day, 
On  foot  or  in  de  saddle ; 
Dey  used  to  sing  de  Dixie  song, 

But  now,  "  Skedaddle,"  u  Skedaddle." 

De  rebels  dey  am  husky  boys, 

Quite  fond  of  tune  and  rhyme,  sah ; 
Dey  sing  dis  one  to  double-quick, 

While  toes  and  heels  keep  time,  sah ; 
De  darkies,  too,  dey  lub  to  sing, 

And  so  be  in  de  fashion ; 
De  way  dey  promulgate  dis  ting, 

"  Skedaddle,"  am  a  passion. 

Secesh  and  contrabands  unite, 

Like  brodders  all  before  us,  9 

Dough  one  go  souf  de  oder  north* 

'Tis  all  to  dis  same  chorus ; 
De  locomotives  cotch  de  tune, 

De  steamboat  as  dey  paddle, 
And  keep  dar  wheels  a  goin'  round, 

To  dis  same  tune,  "  Skedaddle." 


23 

Jeff.  Davis  wants  to  learn  de  song, 

De  Richmond  papers  tell  us ; 
But  dar's  no  music  in  his  soul, 

I  know  dey're  trying  to  sell  us ; 
Den  darkies  run  and  darkies  sing, 

"  Skedaddle  "  am  de  chorus ; 
"We'll  neber  fear  but  always  keep 

De  norf  star  right  before  us. 


How  are  you,  Conscript? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Henby  Tolman  &  Co..  Music  Publishers, 
291  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  or  the  copyright. 

How  are  you,  conscript  ? 

How  are  you  to-day  ? 

The  provost-marshal's  got  you 

In  a  very  tight  place,  they  say ; 

But,  oh,  you  should  not  mind  it, 

Nor  breathe  another  sigh, 

For  you're  only  going  to  Dixie 

To  fight  and  mind  your  eye. 

Chorus — Oh,  how  are  you,  conscript, 

How  are  you,  to-day  ? 

The  provost-marshal's  got  you 

In  a  very  tight  place,  they  *ay. 

How  are  you,  conscript? 

How  are  you,  my  boy  ? 
I  s'pose  you  take  it  rather  hard, 

Since  you're  your  mother's  joy ; 
But  Uncle  Sam  says  you're  the  one 

To  "  go  in"  hip  and  thigh, 
For  you're  only  going  to  Dixie 

To  fight  and  mind  your  eye. 


24 


Swinging  in  the  Lane. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Sawyer  &  THOMrsoN,Music  Publishers, 
59  Fulton  avenue,  Brooklyn,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

How  oft  we  talked  of  childhood's  joys, 

Of  tricks  we  used  to  play 
Upon  each  other,  while  at  school, 

To  pass  the  time  away ; 
But,  oh,  how  often  have  I  longed 

For  those  bright  days  again, 
When  little  rosy  Nell  and  I 
Went  swinging  in  the  lane. 
Chorus — But  yet  I'd  give  the  world  to  be 
With  rosy  Nell  again, 
I  never,  never  will  forget 
Our  swinging  in  the  lane. 


The  boys  ana  girls  would  often  go 

A  fishing  in  the  brooks, 
With  spools  of  thread  for  fishing  lines, 

And  bended  pins  for  hooks ; 
They  sometimes  wished  me  with  them,  but 

They  always  wished  in  vain ; 
I'd  rather  be  with  rosy  Nell, 

A  swinging  in  the  lane. 

But  soon  a  cloud  of  sorrow  came — 

A  strange  young  man  from  town 
Was  introduced  to  rosy  Nell, 

By  Aunt  Jemima  Brown ; 
She  stayed  away  from  school  next  day, 

The  truth  to  me  was  plain, 
Bhe'd  gone  with  that  old  city  chap 

A  swinging  in  the  lane. 


25 


Now  all  young  men  with  tender  hearts, 

Pray  take  advice  from  me — 
Don't  be  so  quick  to  fall  in  love 

With  ever}-  girl  you  see ; 
For  if  you  do,  you  soon  will  find 

You've  only  loved  in  vain ; 
She'll  go  off  with  some  other  ckap 

A  swinging  in  the  lane. 


I  hear  sweet  Voices  Singing. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  YorK,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

I  hear  sweet  voices  singing  ' 

The  anthems  of  the  skies, 
And  golden  bells  are  ringing 

A  theme  that  never  dies. 
Chorus — Then  let  no  thought  of  sadness, 

Dear  mother,  rest  on  thee, 
But  be  your  heart  all  gladness 

When  you  remember  me. 

I  see  bright  angels  bending 

In  glory  round  my  head, 
A  heavenly  radiance  lending 

That  they  alone  can  shed. 

I  grieve,  but  oh  !  thy  sorrow, 

Yet,  think  I  go  before ; 
'Twill  only  be  to-morrow, 

And  we  shall  part  no  more,  ( 
Choeus — Then  let  no  thought  of  sadness, 

Dear  mother,  rest  on  thee, 
But  be  your  heart  all  gladnesa 

When  you  remember  me. 


26 


Mother,  when  the  War  is  Over. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Mother,  when  the  war  is  over, 

And  I'm  home  again  with  thee, 

How  my  heart  will  beat  with  rapture 

When  thy  loving  smile  I  see ; 

Then  will  come  the  happy  moments, 

Such  as  we  have  seen  before  ; 

Sweet  will  be  thy  welcome  blessing, 

When  I  reach  our  cottage  door. 

Chorus — Mother,  when  the  war  is  over, 

And  I'm  home  again  with  thee, 

How  my  heart  will  beat  with  rapture, 

When  thy  loving  smile  I  see. 

Mother,  when  the  war  is  over, 

Then  I'll  tell  thee  how  they  died, 
Those  who  were  my  boyhood  comrades, 

Those  that  perished  by  my  side  ; 
How  they  spoke  of  home  and  loved  ones, 

Ere  their  eyes  we  closed  in  death, 
Mother,  dear,  the  lingering  accents 

Of  my  comrades'  latest  breath. 

Mother,  when  the  wrar  is  over, 

And  our  land  is  bright  again, 
Oh,  what  joy  wrill  lie  around  us, 

In  our  great  and  loved  domain 
If  once  more  we  are  united, 

Kindred  heart  and  kindred  hand, 
Soul  with  soul  in  bliss  delighted, 

Sweet  will  be  our  native  land. 


27 


Nellie  Lee. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Ltek  &  Walker,  Music  Publisher!, 
723  Chestnut  street,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Nellie  Lee  was  bright  and  fair, 

A  spirit  bright  was  she ; 

A  fairy  form  with  golden  hair, 

Ah,  she  was  dear  to  me ; 

Dearly  did  we  love  her, 

Oft  we  laughed  in  glee, 

Till  bright  angels  whispered, 

"  Come,  sweet  Nellie  Lee." 

Chorus — Nellie  Lee  has  left  us, 

Her  gentle  spirit's  fled ; 

Although  she's  living  in  our  hearts, 

She's  sleeping  with  the  dead. 

When  summer  winds  were  lightest, 

And  birds  sung  all  the  day, 
"When  all  the  world  seemed  brightest 

Nellie  passed  away ; 
Now  autumn  leaves  are  falling, 

And  dreary  days  grow  long, 
I  think  I  hear  her  calling, 

And  listen  for  her  song. 

But  now  I  sadly  wander 

To  seek  the  silent  shade, 
Where,  beneath  the  grave-sod, 

Nellie  Lee  is  laid ; 
All  the  flowers  seem  weeping, 

As  round  her  head  they  wave, 
And  twinkling  stars  are  keeping 

Watch  above  her  grave. 


28 


Go  away,  Black  Man. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Henry  Tolman  &  Co., Music  Publishers, 
291  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

As  I  walked  out  one  moonlight  night, 

I  met  a  pretty  gal,  and  her  eyes  shone  bright  ; 

Her  face  was  so  black  dat  you  couldn't  see  it  well, 

And  she  was  called  the  yaller  Busha  Belle ; 

Says  I,  "  Young  lady,  may  I  walk  wid  you  ?" 

What  do  you  think  was  de  answer  dat  she  gave  me  ? 

CHORUS. 

"  Go  away,  black  man,  don't  you  come  nigh  me, 
I'll  burn  you  wid  a  chunk,  if  I  don't,  blow  digh  mc ;" 
Radi  inka  da,  radi  inka  da, 
I  never  saw  a  yaller  gal  could  make  me  run  away. 

We  didn't  talk  much  longer,  when  down  de  rain  it  fell, 

In  a  minit  I  up  wid  my  cotton  umberell : 

Says  I,  "  Young  lady,  will  you  lean  upon  my  arm  ? 

I  pledge  you  my  solemn  appetite  dat  I  mean  no  harm  ; 

So  come,  young  lady,  may  I  walk  wid  you  ?" 

Dis  time  a  different  answer  now  she  did  give  me. 

CHORUS. 

"  Oome  along,  black  man,  I'll  go  along  wid  you  now, 
Hold  up  your  umbrella,  or  I'll  get  wet  through,  now." 
Radi  inka  da,  etc. 

Now  as  we  walked  along,  I  don't  know  what  we  said, 
But  de  subject  of  matrimony  it  pop  in  my  head ; 
But  what  passed  between  us  I'm  not  agwine  to  tell, 
But  next  week  I  was  married  to  yaller  Busha  Belle ; 
We  went  to  a  parson,  all  to  be  wed, 
When  he  axed  de  lady's  name,  what  d'ye  think  she  said  ? 
Chorus — "  Go  away,  black  man/'  etc. 


29 


My  Country  so  Dear. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Ler  &  Walker,  Music  Publisher!, 
Tz2  Chestnut  street,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

My  country  so  dear  I  viewed  with  delight, 

Abounding  in  wealth  and  peerless  in  might ; 

When,  lo,  a  dark  cloud  did  evil  portray, 

In  vision  I  saw  a  terrible  day ; 

And  forth  to  my  gaze,  with  pomp  and  with  pride, 

A  demon  of  war  his  charger  did  ride ; 

Who  said,  as  he  raised  his  conquering  hand, 

"  I'll  spread  cruel  woes  and  death  o'er  the  land ; 

Oppression  is  mine,  and  hatred  to  right, 

And  freedom  111  crush  with  vigor  and  might." 

The  wings  of  the  wind  his  spirit  conveyed, 

And  breasts  all  inflamed  his  summons  obeyed ; 

He  marshaled  his  hosts  o'er  hill  and  o'er  plain, 

The  sons  of  the  land  were  mangled  and  slain ; 

The  timid  with  fear  from  homesteads  did  fly, 

Fair  cities  assailed  in  ashes  did  lie ; 

He  scattered  rich  stores  and  millions  of  gold, 

And  multiplied  ills  and  sorrows  untold ; 

My  country  then  mourned  o'er  hopes  that  were  fled, 

The  fate  of  the  land  and  graves  of  the  dead. 

When  quickly  from  heaven  an  angel  of  light 

Disarmed  the  proud  foe  and  put  him  to  flight ; 

His  hosts  were  subdued,  they  scattered  and  fled, 

And  freedom's  strong  arms  to  victory  led ; 

Then  fell  on  my  ear  this  message,  of  love  : 

"  Thy  country's  dark  hour  a  blessing  shall  prove 

For  tyranny's  power  forever  shall  cease, 

And  o'er  thee  shall  wave  the  banner  of  peace ; 

In  wisdom  and  strength  thy  country  shall  be 

Jl  home  for  the  brave,  a  land  for  tho  free. 


30 


Let  me  Die  Face  to  the  Foe. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Son,  Mnsic  Publisher*, 
543  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  am  wounded,  soldiers,  dying, 

Fight  on,  our  cause  is  just ; 
List !  the  cannon  roaring,  firing, 

Crushing  traitors'  hopes  to  dust ; 
Firmly  trust  your  brave  commander, 

Press  on,  nobly  to  the  last ; 
He'll  win  "  if  it  takes  all  summer," 

Be  you  true — "  the  die  is  cast !" 

I  am  wounded,  soldiers,  dying, 

Here  upon  the  battle-field, 
Soldiers,  charging  you  while  dying", 

Your  country's  name  to  shield ; 
Fight  if  hope  seems  to  expire, 

Do  not  falter  on  the  way ; 
Northern's,  heed  not  rebel  fire, 

Press  you  on,  boys,  win  the  day 

I  am  wounded,  soldiers,  dying, 

Press  you  on  and  win  the  day — 
Dry  your  tears,  and  cease  your  sighing, 

Do  not  falter  by  the  way ; 
Death,  "  brave  hearts,"  can  ne'er  appall  you, 

Let  me  hear  your  battle-cry ; 
Farewell  soldiers,  and  God  bless  you, 

'Tis  glorious  thus  to  die. 

I  am  wounded,  soldiers,  dying, 
Send  this  word  unto  my  wife «. 

"  I've  been  true  unto  my  country, 
In  her  cause  I  yieM  ray  life." 


31 


Hark  !  the  drums  beat — victory's  ours ! 

Let  me  ask  you,  ere  I  go, 
Comrades,  "  turn  me  toward  the  traitori 

Let  me  die  face  to  the  foe !" 


Shall  we  ever  Meet  again? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publisheri, 
663  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Shall  we  ever  meet  again  ? 

Whispers  through  the  land ; 
Like  the  ocean's  gentle  murmur, 

Rippling  o'er  the  sand ; 
Friends  and  kindred  long  since  parted, 

Seem  to  hope  in  vain, 
That  the  sunshine  may,  unclouded, 
Beam  on  them  again. 
Chorus — Hark,  the  winds  are  softly  breathing, 
Hope  is  not  in  vain, 
Brightly-beaming  sunshine  tells  u* 
We  shall  meet  again. 

Oh,  ye  watchers,  cease  repining, 

Ye  shall  meet  again ; 
If  not  here,  in  regions  brighter, 

Free  from  mortal  pain ; 
Each  new  bud  in  fragrance  sweeter 

Leaves  its  mother  earth, 
But  the  soul  in  winging  upward 
Fadeless  joys  give  birth. 
Chorus — Hark,  the  winds  are  softly  breathing 
Hope  is  not  in  vain, 
Brightly-beaming  sunshine  tells  ui 
We  shall  meet  again. 


32 


The  Cracksman's  Chant. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  see'd  three  p'licemen  in  the  strand, 

Luddy,  fuddy,  oh,  poor  luddy,  heigho ; 

I  see'd  three  p'liceman  in  the  strand, 

And  I  knowed  as  they'd  got  a  chase  on  hand, 
Luddy,  fuddy,  oh,  poor  luddy,  heigho 

Chorus — Luddy,  fuddy,  oh,  poor  luddy,  heigho, 

And  I  see'd  as  they  axed  eacli  passer-by, 

Luddy,  fuddy,  oh,  poor  luddy,  heigho ; 
And  I  see'd  as  they  axed  each  passer-by, 
And  I  knew  as  the  cove  what  they  wanted  was  I, 
Luddy,  fuddy,  oh,  poor  luddy,  heigho. 

First  they  axed  a  Frenchman  they  chanced  to  meet, 

Luddy,  fuddy,  oh,  poor  luddy,  heigho ; 
First  they  axed  a  Frenchman  they  chanced  to  meet, 
"  II  est  la !     Yous  le  trouverez  toute  de  suite," 
Luddy,  fuddy,  oh,  poor  luddy,  heigho. 

Then  they  axed  a  Dutchman  :  "  Ya,  mynheer," 
Luddy,  fuddy,  oh,  poor  luddy,  heigho, 

"  I  see  yist  sesh  man  bass  by  here 

Yile  I  sits  at  mein  toor  and  I  trinks  mein  peer  * 
Luddy,  fuddy,  oh,  poor  luddy,  heigho. 

Now  why  did  this  throw  them  off  the  track  ? 

Luddy,  fuddy,  oh,  poor  luddy,  heigho ; 
Now  why  did  this  throw  them  off  the  track  ? 
Cos  Frenchman  and  Dutchman  was  both  coll  the  crack, 

Luddy,  fuddy,  oh,  poor  luddy,  heigho. 


De  Old  Corn  Mill. 

Copied  bv  permission  of  Lke  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Chestnut  street,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Dc  home  of  my  childhood,  dat  dearly-loved  spot, 
Whar  de  yallow  corn  am  growing  roun'  my  fader's 

old  cot, 
Dar  many  happy  days  I  spent  I  yet  remember  well, 
Wid  my  kind  old  mudder  down  by  de  old  corn  milL 

CHORUS. 

Den  hurry  me  home  to  de  old  corn  mill, 

To  my  fader's  old  cot  on  de  top  ob  he  hill, 

For  I  am  getting  weary  and  not  afraid  to  die, 

Oh,  lay  me  side  my  mudder  in  de  groun'  whar  Katy  lie. 

Full  well  I  remember  how,  with  boyish  delignt, 

We  met  roun'  de  pine-knot  fires  at  de  night ; 

I  lub  to  see  de  old  corn  mill,  and  watch  de  wheel  go 

round, 
I  lub  my  good  old  mudder,  in  de  cold,  cold  ground. 
Chorus — Den  hurry  me  home,  etc. 

Oh,  for  dat  old  corn  mill  ro  memory  dear, 

I  would  eat  de  bright  corn-cake  wid  merry  good  cheer ; 

But  de  old  corn  mill  am  passing  away, 

And  de  crazy  old  wheel  am  gone  to  decay. 

Chorus — Den  hurry  me  home,  etc. 

And  Katy  I  loved,  her  grave  am  so  cold, 
De  old  folks  am  dead,  and  de  young  ones  am  sold; 
Dem  happy  days  am  ober,  free  from  sorrow  and  ill, 
When  we  all  lived  at  home  by  de  old  corn  inilL 
Chorus — Den  hurry  me  home,  etc. 


34 


Come  Home,  Father. 

Copied   by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Father,  dear  father,  come  home  with  me  now, 

The  clock  in  the  steeple  strikes  one ; 
You  said  you  were  coming  right  home  from  the  shop. 

As  soon  as  your  day's  work  was  done ; 
Our  fire  has  gone  out,  our  house  is  all  dark, 

And  mother's  been  watching  since  tea, 
With  poor  brother  Benny  so  sick  in  her  arms 

And  no  one  to  help  her  but  me. 
Come  home  !  come  home  !  come  home  ! 

Please,  father,  dear  father,  conie  home. 

CHORUS. 

Hear  the  sweet  voice  of  the  child, 

Which  the  night- winds  repeat  as  they  roam ; 

Oh,  who  could  resist  this  most  plaintive  of  prayers, 
"  Please,  father,  dear  father,  come  home." 
Father,  dear  father,  come  home  with  me  now, 

The  clock  in  the  steeple  strikes  two ; 
The  night  has  grow^n  colder,  and  Benny  is  worse 

But  he  has  been  calling  for  you ; 
Indeed  he  is  worse,  ma  says  he  will  die, 

Perhaps  before  morning  shall  dawn ; 
And  this  is  the  message  she  sent  me  to  bring : 

"  Come,  quickly,  or  he  will  be  gone." 
Father,  dear  father,  come  home  with  me  nowr, 

The  clock  in  the  steeple  strikes  three ; 
The  house  is  so  lonely,  the  hours  are  so  long, 

For  poor  weeping  mother  and  me ; 
Yes,  we  are  alone,  poor  Benny  is  dead, 

And  gone  with  the  angels  of  light ; 
And  these  were  the  very  last  words  that  he  said : 

"  I  want  to  kiss  papa  good-night." 


For  Phil,  Sheridan,  Hurrah. 

Oh,  have  you  heard  the  glorious  news 
Which  gives  the  Copperheads  the  blues? 
Where'er  we  turn  'tis  Victory  still, 
All  honest  hearts  with  joy  to  thrill ; 
Sherman  and  Farragut  lead  the  van ; 
And  then  comes  brave  Phil.  Sheridan, 
With  colors  flying  proud  and  free : 
So  give  the  hero  three  times  three! 
Hurrah  i     Xow  give  it  with  a  will — 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  for  gallant  Phil.  ! 

His  army  like  a  torrent  poured 

Upon  the  stubborn  rebel  horde 

And  "  sent  them  whirling"  'neath  the  blow 

Which  shook,  which  overpowered  the  foe, 

Which  early  broke  and  Early  ran 

And  left  the  field  to  Sheridan  ; 

Again  the  Shenandoah's  free ; 

So  give  the  hero  three  times  three ! 

Hurrah !     Now  give  it  with  a  will — 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  for  gallant  Phil.  ! 

Yet,  Phil.,  why  show  such  reckless  haste  ? 
It  surely  was  a  ''  wicked  waste" 
To  lose  Chicago  all  the  votes 
Of  twenty  thousand  nut-brown  coats  ! 
Besides,  it's  now  the  style  polite 
With  ''strategy"  alone  to  fight! 
Yet  M  how  to  do  U"  Phil.  "  don't  sec  f) 
So  give  the  hero  three  times  three  ! 
Hurrah  !     Now  give  it  with  a  will- 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  for  gallant  Phil.  I 


36 


'Twas  off  the  Blue  Canaries. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
647  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright 

'Twas  off  the  blue  Canaries, 

A  glorious  summer  day, 
I  sat  upon  the  quarter-deck, 

And  whiled  my  cares  away ; 
And  as  the  volumed  smoke  arose, 

Like  incense  in  the  air, 
I  breathed  a  sigh,  to  think  in  sooth, 

It  was  my  last  cigar. 

Tve  leaned  upon  the  quarter-rail, 

And  looked  down  in  the  sea, 
E'-en  there  the  purple  wreath  of  smoke 

Was  curling  gracefully ; 
Oh,  what  had  I,  at  such  a  time, 

To  do  with  wasting  care  ? 
Alas,  the  trembling  tear  proclaimed 

It  was  my  last  cigar. 

I  watched  the  ashes,  as  it  came 

Fast  drawing  toward  the  end, 
I  watched  it,  as  a  friend  would  watch 

Beside  a  dying  friend ; 
But  still  the  flame  crept  slowly  on, 

It  vanished  into  air, 
I  threw  it  from  me,  spare  the  tale, 

It  was  my  last  cigar. 

I've  seen  the  land  of  all  I  love 

Fade  in  the  distance  dim, 
I've  watched  above  the  blighted  heart 

Where  once  proud  hope  hath  been, 


37 

But  I've  never  known  a  sorrow, 
That  could  with  that  compare, 

When  off  the  blue  Canaries, 
I  smoked  my  last  cigar. 


The  Snow-White  Blossoms. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Muaic  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Come,  let  us  wander  forth,  Annie, 

The  sim  is  warm  and  bright ; 
Come,  let  us  leave  our  homes  a  while, 

With  hearts  and  footsteps  light ; 
Down  by  the  woodland  grove, 

Oh,  let  us  onward  go, 
Where  oft  the  cuckoo's  voice  is  heard, 

And  sweet  May  flowers  grow ; 
There  we  will  tell  our  tales  of  love, 

And  pass  the  hours  away, 
Near  the  little  snow-white  blossoms, 

So  beautiful  are  they. 

Smiling  nature's  varied  charms, 

We'll  roam  and  chat  a  while, 
Our  hearts  unswayed  by  anxious  care, 

Our  tongues  untouched  with  guile ; 
Secluded  from  the  world  around, 

From  busy  lane  and  street, 
The  bright  blue  sky  above  our  headi 

The  daises  at  our  feet ; 
There  we  will  linger  side  by  side, 

Till  evening  fades  away, 
Near  the  little  snow-white  blossoms. 

So  beautiful  or«  they. 


38 


The  Untameable  Shrew. 

Copied  by  permission  of  OliverDitson&  Co.,  Mnsic  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Of  all  things  in  this  world  'gainst  which  indignation 

strives, 
I  think  the  most  contemptible  are  tame,  submissive 

wives ; 
A  husband  who  would  order  me, 

With  prompt  derision  should  be  hooted ; 
Just  let  him  try  it  on  and  see, 

He'll  find  his  ears  at  once  saluted 
With  a  whack,  row-de-dow  ! 

I  warrant  me  I'd  make  'em  tingle, 
Whack,  row-de-dow, 

Or  know  the  reason  why. 

To  hear  the  silly  talk,  hardly  worth  a  grain  of  chaff, 
Of  a  husband's  being  "  head  and  chief" — ha  !  ha  !  it 

makes  me  laugh ; 
Just  let  him  scold  or  make  a  fuss — 

My  temper  is  a  thought  unstable — 
I'd  take  him  by  the  collar,  thus, 

And  shake  him  long  as  I  was  able ; 
While  a  whack,  row-de-dow, 

His  head  should  sound  against  the  wainscot ; 
Whack,  row-de-dow, 

Or  it  shouldn't  be  my  fault. 

But  should  he  be  so  bold  as  to  dare  to  use  a  threat, 
I'd  teach  him  such  a  lesson  as  he  should  not  soon 

forget ; 
Unless  upon  his  knees  he  fell, 

Before  he  was  a  minute  older, 


S9 


I'd  seize  the  hearth-broom,  grip  it  well, 
And  bring  it  down  across  his  shoulder, 

With  a  whack,  row-de-dow, 

He'd  rub  them  smartly  some  time  after, 

Whack,  row-de-dow, 

So  he'll  know  what  to  expect. 

Now,  girls,  make  up  your  minds,  if  you  would  avoid 

such  brawls, 
To  give  your  sweethearts  warning,  that  they  may  look 

out  for  squalls ; 
For  husbands,  should  they  get  an  inch, 

Upon  an  ell  are  sure  to  border ; 
So  nothing  suits  us,  at  a  pinch, 

To  keep  the  creatures  well  in  order, 
Like  a  whack,  row-de-dow ; 

Provided  it  in  time  is  given, 
Whack,  row-de-dow, 

It's  never  known  to  fail. 


The  Troubadour, 

Gayly  the  troubadour  touched  his  guitar, 
When  he  was  hastening  home  from  the  war ; 
Singing,  "  From  Palestine  hither  I  come, 
Ladye  love,  ladye  love,  welcome  me  home." 

She,  for  the  troubadour,  hopelessly  wept ; 
Sadly  she  thought  of  him  when  others  slept ; 
Singing,  "  In  search  of  thee  would  I  might  roam, 
Troubadour,  troubadour,  come  to  thy  home." 

Hark  !  'twas  the  troubadour  breathing  her  name  ; 
Under  the  battlement  softly  he  came ; 
Singing,  u  From  Palestine  hither  I  come, 
Ladye  love,  ladye  love,  welcome  me  home." 


40 


De  "United  States  Hotel. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  <fc  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Tse  took  rooms  for  de  season,  I'se  cutting  quite  a  swell, 

Tse  stoppin'  at  a  tavern,  de  United  States  hotel ; 

Ole  Uncle  Sam's  de  landlord,  we  eat  and  drink  our  fill, 

An'  de  blessin'  ob  it  is  we've  got  money  for  de  bills. 

Chorus — Oh,  hi  1  oh,  dinkum  darkey, 

De  Souf  trash  can't  afford 
To  take  rooms  at  de  tavern, 

Whar  de  contrabands  board. 

De  possum  it  was  lubly,  but  we've  better  grub  den  dat, 
De  hoe-cake  it  was  'nificent,  de  raccoon  sweet  and  fat, 
But,  possum,  coon  and  hoe-cake,  I  bid  }tou  all  farewell, 
You  wouldn't  suit  de  'siety  at  Uncle  Sam's  hotel. 
Chorus — Oh,  hi !  oh,  dinkum  darkey, 

Oh,  don't  you  hear  de  bell  ? 
It's  ringin'  for  de  boardahs 
At  Uncle  Sam's  hotel ! 

And  don't  you  know  de  boardahs  ?     De  'coniplished 

Dinah  Crow, 
De  'scrushiatin'  Pompey  and  de  gallant  Mistah  Snow, 
And  all  ob  de  'scaped  darkies?no  matter  where  dey  dwell, 
Are  goin'  to  be  boardahs  at  Uncle  Sam's  hotel. 
Chorus — Oh,  hi !  oh,  dinkum  darkey, 

Oh,  don  t  you  hear  de  bell  ? 
It's  ringing  for  de  boardahs 
At  Uncle  Sam's  hotel. 

De  'scrushiatin'  Pompey,  when  he  sits  down  to  dine, 
Just  hear  him  call  de  wait  ah  to  fotch  along  de  wine  ; 


41 


And  see  dc  little  niggah  a  helpin'  Mistah  Snow, 
And  bringin'  chicken  fixins  to  de  lubly  Dinah  Crow. 
CnoRUS — Oh,  hi  I  oh,  dinkum  darkey, 
Oh,  don't  }'ou  hear  de  bell  ? 
It's  ringin'  for  de  boardahs 
At  Uncle  Sam's  hotel. 

It's  a  mighty  big  old  tavern,  dat  United  States  hotel, 
It  has  sixty  t'onsand  boardahs,  and  it  'commodates  'em 

well; 
It  has  room  for  all  ob  Dixie,  and  I  s'pect  dey'll  all  be  here, 
Wid  dar  wives  an'  pickaninies,  'fore  de  endin'  ob  deyear. 
Chorus — Oh,  hi !  oh,  dinkum  darkey, 

Oh,  don't  you  hear  de  bell  ? 
It's  ringing  for  de  boardahs. 
At  Uncle  Sam's  hotel. 

Gib  us  mattock,  white  man,  dc  shubbel  and  de  spade, 
We  boardahs  hab  de  work  to  do,we'  11  neber  quit  de  trade ; 
We  pay  for  all  de  boardin',  although  it  makes  us  sweat, 
And  we  mean  to  try  and  show  you  all  you  hab  no 

cause  to  fret. 
Chorus — Oh,  hi !  oh,  dinkum  darkey, 
Oh,  hi!  oh,  darkey,  ho! 
We  settle  up  wid  Uncle  Sam, 
And  den  we  go  it — ho ! 

Hurrah  for  Massa  Linkum,  who  tends  dis  big  hotel, 
Who  gibs  us  plenty  of  xcork  to  do,  but  nebber  buys  or  sell ; 
And  dere  we  pay  de  bills  ourself,  hurrah,  yah,  yah,  hi,  hi, 
We'll  pray  for  Massa  Linkum  till  de  berry  day  we  die. 
Chorus — Oh,  hi !  oh,  dinkum  darkey, 

Oh,  don't  you  hear  de  bell  ? 
It's  ringin'  for  de  boardahs 
At  Uncle  Sam's  hotel. 


42 


The  Swords  were  Thirty-Seven. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Son,  Music  Publishers, 
543  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Three  years  ago,  three  years  to-day, 

We  raised  our  hands  to  heaven, 
And  on  the  rolls  of  muster,  then, 

Our  names  were  thirty-seven ; 
There  were  just  a  thousand  bayonets, 

And  the  swords  were  thirty-seven, 
As  we  took  the  oath  of  service  then, 

With  our  right  hands  raised  to  heaven. 

Oh,  'twas  a  gallant,  gallant  day, 

In  memory  still  adored, 
That  marriage  day  of  nuptials  bright, 

Of  the  musket  and  the  sword ; 
Shrill  rung  the  fifes  and  bugles, 

And  beneath  a  cloudless  heaven, 
There  twinkled  a  thousand  bayonets, 

And  the  swords  were  thirty-seven. 

Of  the  thousand  stalwart  bayonets, 

Two  hundred  march  to-day, 
And  hundreds  lie  in  Virginia  swamps, 

And  hundreds  in  Maryland  clay ; 
And  hundreds,  less  happy,  drag 

Their  shattered  limbs  around, 
And  envy  the  deep,  long,  blessed  sleep 

Of  the  battle-field's  holy  ground. 

For  the  swords — one  night,  a  week  ago, 

The  remnant  just  eleven, 
Were  gathered  round  a  banquet-board, 

With  seats  for  thirty-seven ; 


43 


There  were  two  who  limped  in  on  crutches, 

And  two  had  but  one  hand 
To  pour  the  wine  and  raise  the  cup, 

As  we  toasted,  "  Our  flag  and  land." 

And  the  room  seemed  filled  with  whispers  vague, 

As  we  looked  at  the  vacant  seats ; 
With  choking  throats  we  pushed  aside 

The  rich  but  imtasted  meats ; 
Then  in  silence  we  brimmed  our  glasses, 

And  rose  up  just  eleven, 
And  bowed  as  we  drank  to  the  loved  and  the  dead, 

Who  had  made  us  thirty-seven. 


The  Blue-Eyed  Boy. 

Near  yonder  cottage  on  the  heath, 
"Where  roars  the  angry  surge  beneath, 
An  orphan  lived,  his  mother's  joy, 
Her  pride,  her  hope,  her  blue-eyed  boy. 

One  winter  eve  the  stripling  roamed, 
Where  fierce  the  white-edged  billows  foamed, 
The  night  approached,  but  to  destroy 
Ilis  mother's  hope,  the  blue-eyed  boy 

In  vain  she  sought  her  absent  child ; 
Now  shrieked  his  name  in  accents  wild ; 
Beneath  the  cold  waves  lies  her  joy, 
Her  hope  on  earth,  her  blue-eyed  boy. 

No  more  he'll  feel  her  loved  embrace, 
No  more  she'll  pat  his  angel  face, 
Or  kiss  his  coral  lips  with  joy ; 
No,  no  !  he's  gone  !  her  blue-eyed  boy. 


44 


My  Beautiful  Lizzie. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  fair  is  the  form  of  my  own  darling  Lizzie, 

Her  smile  is  as  soft  as  the  morn's  early  light ; 
And  with  my  poor  heart  the  sweet  maid  is  so  busy, 

That  I  to  a  shadow  am  dwindling  outright ; 
Her  face  is  the  index  to  all  that  is  charming, 

Her  form  is  as  lovely  as  lovely  can  be, 
And  she  knocks  at  my  heart  with  a  clamor  alarming, 

My  beautiful  Lizzie,  a  cushla  machree  I 

CHORUS. 

My  life  and  my  soul  is  my  own  little  darling, 

Oh,  she's  brighter  than  starlight  or  sunbeam  to  me, 
And  her  voice  is  far  sweeter  than  blackbird  or  starling, 

My  sweet  little  colleen,  my  own  little  colleen, 

My  beautiful  colleen,  a  cushla  machree. 
My  Lizzie  is  lovely  and  blooming  and  bonny, 

Her  cheeks  shame  the  blush  of  the  rose  of  the  South  ; 
The  dew  on  her  lip  is  far  sweeter  than  honey, 

And  graces  in  clusters  hang  round  her  dear  mouth  ; 
Her  voice  has  a  gush  of  soft  melody  in  it, 

A  heaven  of  rapture  it  brings  unto  me  ; 
Oh,  'tis  sweeter  than  song  of  the  sk}-lark  or  linnet, 

My  beautiful  Lizzie,  a  cushla  machree ! 
The  light  from  the  eyes  of  my  beautiful  Lizzie 

Is  brighter  to  me  than  the  moon's  silver  beam ; 
It  shines  through  my  heart  till  my  head  turns  so  dizzy, 

I  wander  bewildered  like  one  in  a  dream ; 
Oh,  give  me  but  Lizzie,  so  fair  and  enchanting, 

Her  smile  is  like  music  of  angels  to  me ; 
And  without  her  I  feel  heaven's  sunlight  is  wanting, 

My  beautiful  Lizzie,  a  cushla  machree ! 


45 


Mount,  Boys,  Mount. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  W  ashington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Wo  have  left  the  radiant  hills  of  our  own  dear  native 
homes, 
To  fight  for  the  Union  so  dear ; 
We  have  brushed  away  the  tears  for  to  see  the  rebels' 
motions, 
And  we'll  show  them  Uncle  Sam's  down  here. 

CHORUS. 

Then  mount,  boys,  mount !  drive  the  rowels  in  the  side, 
Let  your  sabers  be  flashing  in  the  sun, 

For  we'll  charge  the  rebel  crew,  with  our  Yankee 
doodle  do, 
And  we'll  drive  them  into  kingdom  come. 

Old  Jeff  he  got  a  notion  that  our  boys  they  couldn't  fight, 
But  we  made  his  rebel  eyes  ope  wide ; 

We  have  left  our  flag  a-streaming  all  along  thcMississippi 
And  we've  swept  them  on  the  ocean  side. 

Our  boys  they  came  by  thousands  for  to  help  the 
cause  along, 
With  hearts  on  Libby  prison  and  Belle  Isle ; 
They  are  aching  for  the  contest  which  will  give  their 
comrades  freedom, 
And  they  feel  that  they  must  u  fight  or  spile." 

Then  hurrah  for  father  Abra'm,  may  he  live  a  thou- 
sand years, 
And  give  us  fighting  orders  right  away ; 
He  shall  have  a  summer  residence  in  Richmond,  old 
Virginny, 
And  a  sailing  yacht  in  Charleston  bay. 


J~ 


46 


Stand  by  the  Rag,  Boys. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lee  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
722  Cheetnut  street,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Stand  by  the  flag,  boys, 

Rally  to  the  cry, 

God  save  the  Union,  boys, 

Raise  your  banners  high  ; 

Freedom's  cause  is  ours,  boys, 

Freedom's  sons  are  we, 

Strike  another  blow,  boys, 

For  God  and  liberty. 

Chorus — Stand  by  the  flag,  boys, 

Flag  of  old  renown ; 

Palsied  be  the  arm,  boys, 

That  dares  to  tear  it  down. 


Stand  by  the  flag,  boys, 

Many  fields  we've  won ; 
Many  more  we'll  win,  boys, 

Ere  our  task  is  done ; 
Sever  let  us  rest,  boys, 

Never  idle  stand, 
Fight  we  until  treason 

Is  driven  from  the  land. 

Stand  by  the  flag,  boys, 

Traitors  still  abound, 
Even  in  our  homes,  boys, 

Treason  stalks  around ; 
Never  let  us  pause,  boys, 

Never  let  us  yield, 
While  there's  left  an  arm,  boys, 

A  weapon  still  to  wield. 


47 

Stand  by  the  flag,  boys, 

Let  it  ever  wave, 
Bringing  death  to  traitors, 

Freedom  to  the  slave ; 
Let  us  bear  it  on,  boys, 

In  its  glorious  might, 
Shouting  as  our  watchword, 

"  God  protect  the  right." 


Bachelor's  Lament. 

Returning  home  at  close  of  day, 
Who  gently  chides  my  long  delay, 
And  by  my  side  delights  to  stay  ? 

Nobody. 

Who  sets  for  me  the  easy-chair, 
Sets  out  the  room  with  neatest  care, 
And  lays  my  slippers  ready  there  ? 

Nobody. 

"Who  regulates  the  cheerful  fire, 
And  piles  the  blazing  fuel  higher, 
And  bids  me  draw  my  chair  still  nigher 
Nobody. 

When  sickness  racks  my  feeble  frame, 
And  grief  distracts  my  fevered  brain, 
Who  sympathizes  with  my  pain  ? 

Nobody. 

Then  I'm  resolved,  so  help  me  fate, 
To  change  at  last  the  single  state, 
And  will  to  Hymen's  altar  take 

Somebody. 


48 


Charming  Lizzie  Clay. 

Oh,  darkies,  come  and  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say  i 
Old  massa  owned  a  purty  gal,they  called  her  Lizzie  Clay ; 
She  worked  in  the  house  from  morn  till  close  of  day, 
And  eveiy  one  that  knew  her  loved  my  charming 

Lizzie  Clay ; 
One  night  we  went  cut  walking,  to  tell  our  tales  of  love ; 
She  paused,  and  pointing  upward,  Said  :  "  Just  see  the 

stars  above ;" 
Says  I,  "  I  do,  my  love ;  why  do  you  ask,  I  pray  ?" 
"  Oh,  Sam,"  said  she,  "  I  hope  that  we  will  journey 

on  their  way." 

CHORUS. 

Oh,  sweet  Lizzie  Clay,  from  us  you've  passed  away, 
And  left  old  Sam  on  earth  alone,  to  weep  for  Lizzie  Clay. 

She  went  out  in  the  fields  one  day,  and  seemed  to  feel 

so  well, 
But  soon  she  was  taken  sick,  the  cause  we  could  not  tell ; 
We  brought  her  to  the  cabin,  the  doctor  came,  'tis  true, 
But  she  only  said,  "Farewell,  dear  Sam;  good-by, 

good-by  to  you ;" 
The  doctor  tried  his  best,  but  alas,  'twas  all  in  vain, 
For  all  that  he  could  do  would  not  bring  her  back  again ; 
She  died  without  a  struggle,  just  at  the  close  of  clay, 
With  all  the  darkies  weeping  round  the  bed  of  Lizzie 

Clay. 

We  took  her  from  the  cabin,  and  laid  her  in  the  ground, 
Under  the  chestnut-tree,  beneath  the  grassy  mound ; 
We  raised  a  slab  of  pine,  which  stands  until  this  day, 
And  on  the  slab  we  wrote  the  name  of  charming 
Lizzie  Clay. 


49 


But  now  she's  gone  to  heaven,  where  the  angels  live, 
they  say, 

And  left  poor  Sam  on  earth  alone,  to  wear  this  life  away ; 

But  hark  !  1  hear  a  voice,  which,  as  it  whispers,  seems 
to  say, 

"  Welcome,  welcome,  poor  old  Sam,  'tis  your  long- 
lost  Lizzie  Clay." 


G-od  save  John  Bull. 

God  save  me,  great  John  Bull  I 
Long  keep  my  pocket  full ! 

God  save  John  Bull ! 
Ever  victorious, 
Haughty,  vain-glorious, 
Snobbish,  censorious, 

God  save  John  Bull  1 

Oh,  lords,  our  gods,  arise ! 
"  Tax"  all  our  enemies, 

Make  tariffs  fall ! 
Confound  French  politics, 
Frustrate  all  Russian  tricks, 
Get  Yankees  in  a  "  fix," 

God  "bless"  them  aU 

Thy  choicest  gifts  in  store, 
On  me,  me  only  pour — ■ 

Me,  great  John  Bull  I 
Maintain  oppressive  laws, 
Frown  down  the  poor  man's  causa . 
So  sing  with  heart  and  voice, 

I,  great  John  Bull. 


50 


My  Polly  Ann. 

Copied  "by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

At  the  fancy  ball  the  other  night, 

My  Polly  Ann  and  me 
Were  dressed  to  death  in  all  our  best, 

So  happy,  light  and  free ; 
When  Pompey  Smash,  a  colored  moakt 

Came  rushing  in  the  hall, 
And  swore  that  none  should  dance  with  Poll 
There  at  the  fancy  ball. 
chorus.  ' 
Now  strike  up  de  fiddle,  and  let  the  banjo  ring, 
Then  join  in  the  chorus,  while  merrily  we  sing ; 
Let  the  darkies  quarrel  and.  emigrate  to  France, 
I'm  a  happy  darkey,  oh,  with  this  breakdown  dance. 

My  Polly  Ann,  she  looked  at  me, 

And  then  she  gave  a  sigh, 
While  Pompey  Smash  he  shook  his  fist,1 

With  vengeance  in  his  eye ; 
I  kissed  my  hand  to  Polly  Ann, 

The  leader  gave  a  call, 
Away  went  Pomp,  with  Polly  Ann, 

The  gayest  of  them  all. 

Soon  Pomp  and  Poll  were  married, 

Pomp  cleaned  the  gemmen's  clothas, 
And  Polly  shouted  "  Hot  corn"  where 

The  summer  breezes  blows ; 
But  now  they  have  retired, 

And  you'll  see  them  here  no  more,1 
'Cause  Pompey' s  made  his  fortune 

And  has  gone  to  Baltimore. 


51 


Friends  of  the  Union, 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Friends  of  the  Union,  vre  greet  you  to-night, 

True  to  the  land  we  love ; 

True  to  our  country  and  liberty's  right, 

True  to  our  flag  above ; 

Long  may  that  flag 

O'er  fort  and  crag, 

On  the  land,  on  the  sea, 

Float  o'er  the  brave  and  free. 

Chorus — March  on,  Columbia,  to  glory  and  might, 

Queen  of  the  boundless  sea  ; 

Queen,  queen  of  the  boundless  sea, 

Queen,  queen  of  the  boundless  sea. 

Hail  to  the  red  in  our  banner  of  stars, 

Hail  to  the  white  and  blue ; 
Hail  to  the  loved  ones,  now  gone  to  the  wars, 
Hearts  that  are  tried  and  true ; 
Honor  and  fame 
Hallow  each  name ; 
In  the  camp,  in  the  field, 
Heaven  will  be  their  shield. 

Rally,  ye  freemen,  your  country  now  calls, 

List  to  the  stirring  cry ; 
Strike  for  your  children,  your  wives  and  your  homes, 
Strike,  for  the  foe  is  nigh ; 
Strife  soon  shall  cease, 
And  joy  and  peace, 
O'er  the  hills  and  the  streams, 
Shine  with  their  welcome  beams  ■ 


52 


Lay  me  down,  and  save  the  Flag. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

They  arose,  whose  name  was  Legion, 

As  an  overwhelming  wave, 

And  the  battle  surged  its  billows, 

Round  a  chosen  few  and  brave ; 

And  they  neared  the  sacred  banner, 

With  their  foul  and  flaunting  rag, 

When  the  dying  hero  shouted : 

"  Lay  me  down  and  save  the  flag." 

Chorus — So  he  fell,  the  brave  commander, 

Like  the  oak  from  mountain  crag ; 

But  his  last  words  still  are*  ringing : 

"  Lay  me  down  and  save  the  flag." 

To  the  Siroc  of  secession, 

They  had  bared  the  fearless  brow ; 
They  had  heard  that  voice  and  heeded,. 

Could  they  hear  and  heed  it  now  ? 
But  his  heart  is  in  the  battle — 

Shall  the  hallowed  ensign  drag, 
While  a  hand  is  left  to  rescue  ? 

"  Lay  me  down  and  save  the  flag." 

Then  they  looked  at  one  another, 

In  the  speechlessness  of  woe, 
As  each  eye  would  ask  a  brother, 

Shall  we  stay  or  shall  we  go  t 
And  again  the  sight  was  blasted 

By  the  traitors'  boastful  rag, 
And  again  the  word  fell  sternly : 

"  Lay  me  down  and  save  the  flag." 


53 


Oh,  beloved,  ye  who  murmur 

For  the  dear  ones  gone  before, 
For  the  manly  son  and  brother, 

That  may  greet  you  nevermore ; 
For  the  loving  arm  that  shielded, 

For  the  hope  whose  pinions  lag, 
Let  the  lips  that  quiver,  falter : 

"  Lay  me  down  and  save  the  flag." 
Chorus — Slumber  calmly,  brave  commander — 
Where  thou  art,  no  pinions  lag, 
Fame  will  hear  thy  words  forever : 
"  Lay  me  down  and  save  the  flag." 


Kate  O'Shane. 


The  cold  winds  of  autumn  wave  mournfully  here, 
The  leaves  round  me  falling  are  faded  and  sere, 
But  chill  though  the  breeze  be,  and  threatening  the 

storm, 
My  heart,  full  of  fondness,  beats  kindly  and  warm ; 
Oh,  Dennis,  dear,  come  back  to  me, 
I  count  the  hours  away  from  thee ; 
Return,  oh,  never  part  again, 
From  thy  own  darling,  Kate  O'Shane ! 

'Twas  here  we  last  parted,  'twas  here  we  first  met, 

And  ne'er  has  he  caused  me  one  tear  of  regret ; 

Though  seasons  may  alter,  their  change  I  defy ; 

My  heart's  one  glad  summer  when  Dennis  is  by ; 
Oh,  Dennis,  dear,  come  back  to  me, 
I  count  the  hours  away  from  thee ; 
Return,  oh,  never  part  again, 
From  thy  own  darling,  Kate  O'Shane ! 


54 


We  shall  be  Known  Above. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Under  the  ice  the  waters  run, 

Under  the  ice  our  spirits  lie ; 
The  genial  glow  of  the  summer's  sun 

Will  loosen  their  fetters  by  and  by. 

Chorus — Moan  and  groan  in  your  prison  cold, 

River  of  life,  river  of  love, 
The  nights  grow  short,  the  days  grow  long, 
Weaker  and  weaker  the  bonds  of  wrong, 

And  the  sun  shines  bright  above. 

Under  the  ice,  under  the  snow, 

Our  lives  arc  bound  in  a  crystal  ring ; 

By-and-by  will  the  south  winds  blow, 
And  roses  bloom  on  the  banks  of  spring. 

Cnonus — Moan  and  groan  in  your  prison  cold, 

River  of  life,  river  of  love  ; 
The  nights  grow  short,  the  days  grow  long, 
Weaker  and  weaker  the  bonds  of  wrong, 

And  the  bright  sun  shines  above. 


Under  the  ice  our  souls  are  hid, 

Under  the  ice  our  good  deeds  grow ; 

Men  but  credit  the  wrong  we  did, 
Never  the  motives  that  lie  below. 

Choru&  —Moan  and  groan  in  your  prison  cold, 
River  of  life,  river  of  love  ; 
The  winter  is  growing  warm  and  old, 
Frost  is  leaving  the  melting  mold, 
And  the  sun  shines  warm  above. 


55 


Cndcr  the  ice  we  hide  our  wrong, 

Under  the  ice  that  has  chilled  us  through ; 
Oh,  that  the  friends  who  have  known  us  long, 
Dare  to  doubt  we  are  good  and  true. 
Chorus — Moan  and  groan  in  your  prison  cold, 
River  of  life,  river  of  love  ; 
The  winter  is  growing  warm  and  old, 
Roses  stir  in  the  melting  mold, 
"We  shall  be  known  above. 


Oh,  take  me  to  thy  Heart  again. 

Oh,  take  me  to  thy  heart  again, 
I  nevermore  will  grieve  thee, 
All  joys  are  fled,  and  hope  is  dead, 

If  I  indeed  must  leave  thee ; 
Forgive  the  wild  and  angry  words 

This  wayward  heart  hath  spoken ; 
I  did  not  dream  those  cherished  cords 
So  lightly  could  be  broken. 
Chorus — Oh,  take  me  to  thy  heart  again, 
I  nevermore  will  grieve  thee, 
All  joys  are  fled,  and  hope  is  dead, 
If  I  indeed  must  leave  thee. 


I  think  how  very  sad  and  lone 

This  life  would  be  without  thee, 
For  all  the  joys  my  heart  hath  known 

Are  closely  twined  about  thee  ; 
Oh,  teaeh  me  to  subdue  the  pride 

That  wounded  thee  so  blindly, 
And  be  once  more  the  gentle  guide 

Who  smiled  on  me  so  kindly. 


56 


Song  of  the  Soldiers. 

Copied  "by  permission  of  Wm.  Hall  &  Son,  Mnsic  Publishers, 
543  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Comrades  known  in  marches  many, 
Comrades  tried  in  dangers  many, 
Comrades  bound  in  memories  many, 

Brothers  ever  let  us  he ; 
"Wounds  or  sickness  may  divide  us, 
Marching  orders  may  divide  us, 
But  whatever  fate  betide  us, 

Brothers  of  the  heart  are  we— 

Brothers  of  the  heart  are  we. 


Comrades  known  by  faith  the  clearest, 
Tried  when  death  was  near  and  nearest, 
Bound  are  we  by  ties  the  dearest, 

Brothers  evermore  to  be ; 
And,  if  spared  and  growing  older, 
Shoulder  still  in  line  with  shoulder, 
And  with  hearts  no  thrill  the  colder, 

Brothers  ever  we  shall  be — 

Brothers  ever  we  shall  be. 


By  communion  of  the  banner, 
Battle-scarred  but  victor  banner, 
By  the  baptism  of  the  banner, 

Brothers  of  one  church  are  we-, 
Creed  nor  faction  can  divide  us, 
Race  nor  language  can  divide  us, 
Still,  whatever  fate  betide  us, 
Children  of  the  flag  are  we — 
Children  of  the  flag  are  we. 


57 


Cora  Dean. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
563  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Near  the  broad  Atlantic  waters, 

Roaming  the  woodlands  green, 

'Mid  Long  Island's  lovely  daughters, 

Fairest  of  all  was  Cora  Dean ; 

Soft  her  voice  as  liquid  measure, 

Heard  When  the  streamlets  move, 

While  her  eyes  ot  tender  azure, 

Glowed  with  the  winning  beam  01  love. 

Chorus — Cora  Dean  has  left  the  summer  roses, 

Blooming  o'er  the  lea, 

While  her  fair  and  gentle  form  reposes 

Down  by  the  calm  blue  sea. 

Cora  Dean  was  formed  for  laving, 

Cheering  the  hearts  of  all ; 
None  could  sigh  where  she  was  moving, 

Birds  tuned  their  carols  to  her  call  • 
Fields  grew  fairer  at  her  coming, 

Flowers  a  more  joyful  throng ; 
Skies  were  bright  where  she  was  roaming, 

Streams  danced  the  lighter  to  her  song. 

Eyes  bedimmed  with  tears  are  streaming, 

Round  her  deserted  home ; 
Silent  stars  are  nightly  beaming. 

Lending  a  sadness  to  the  gloom, 
While  the  winds  of  summer  dying, 

Borne  from  the  deep,  dark  wave, 
O'er  the  land  in  dirges  sighing, 

Murmur  with  sorrow  round  her  grave. 


58 


Ole  Massa  on  ne  Trabbels  Gone. 

CoP*£^  Permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  A  Co.,  Music  Publishers- 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Ole  massa  on  he  trabbels  gone. 

He  leab  de  land  behind : 
De  Lord's  breff  blow  him  furder  on, 

Like  corn-shucks  in  de  wind ; 
We  own  de  hoe,  we  own  de  plow 

We  own  de  hands  dat  hold ; 
We  sell  de  pig,  we  sell  de  cow, 
But  neber  chile  be  sold. 
Cuonus — De  yam  will  grow,  de  cotton  blow 
We'll  hab  de  rice  and  corn ; 
So  nebber  you  fear,  if  nebber  you  hear 
De  driber  blow  de  horn. 

We  pray  de  Lord,  he  gib  vs  signs 

Dat  some  day  we  be  free ; 
De  norf  wind  tell  it  to  de  pines, 

De  wild  duck  to  de  sea ; 
We  fink  it  when  de  church-bell  ring, 

We  dream  it  in  de  dream ; 
De  rice-bird  mean  it  when  he  sing, 

De  eagle,  when  he  scream. 

We  know  de  promise  nebber  fail, 

And  nebber  lie  de  word ; 
So,  like  de  'postles  in  de  jail, 

We  waited  for  de  Lord ; 
And  now  he  open  ebery  door, 

And  throw  away  de  key ; 
He  t'ink  we  lub  him  so  before, 

We  lub  him  better  free. 


59 


The  Little  Brown  Cot  on  the  Hill. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
503  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  remember  the  little  brown  cot  on  the  hill, 

Where  I  lived  in  the  bright  long  ago, 
And  the  musical  sound  of  the  murmuring  rill, 

That  beside  the  brown  cot  used  to  flow ; 
Though  to  others  no  beauty  in  it  might  appear, 

That  could  wake  in  their  bosoms  a  thrill, 
Yet  there's  nothing  on  earth  to  my  heart  was  so  dear, 

Vs  that  little  brown  cot  on  the  hill. 

CHORUS. 

It  was  lonely  and  old,  and  in  winter  was  drear, 

And  the  winds  could  assail  it  at  will, 
Yet  there's  nothing  on  earth  to  my  heart  was  so  dear, 

As  the  little  brown  cot  on  the  hill. 

Long  ago  in  that  little  brown  cot  I  was  born, 

And  there  passed  all  my  boyhood  away; 
On  its  porch  I  would  sit  from  the  first  blush  of  morn, 

Till  the  close  of  the  long  summer  day ; 
Or  I'd  play  in  the  cool,  shady  woods  that  were  near, 

And  my  shout  would  ring  merry  and  shrill, 
Till  fatigued  I'd  return  to  my  mother  so  dear, 

In  the  little  brown  cot  on  the  hill. 

It  is  years  since  I  parted  my  friends  at  its  door 

When  I  left  them  to  wander  away, 
And  I  sigh  when  I  think  that  they'll  meet  me  no  m6rs, 

For  they  sleep  in  the  church-yard  to-day ; 
But  although  in  this  world  111  not  meet  them  again, 

I  will  cherish  their  memories  still, 
And  remembrance  forever  with  me  will  remain, 

Of  the  little  brown  cot  on  the  hill. 


60 


I'm  a  Young  Man  from  the  Country. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I'm  a  young  man  from  the  country, 

From  Schenectady  I  came ; 
A  free  and  easy  fellow, 

There's  no  need  to  tell  my  name ; 
I  know  my  way  about,  a  bit, 

With  both  eyes  I  can  see ; 
I'm  a  young  man  from  the  country, 

But  you  don't  get  over  me. 

I  hailed  a  coach  down  at  the  Park, 

For  to  take  me  up-town ; 
I  went  as  far  as  Union  Square, 

And  there  he  put  me  down ; 
Says  I,  "  Now,  mister,  what's  your  fare  V9 

"  Five  dollars,  sir,"  says  he ; 
Says  I,  "  I'm  from  the  country, 

But  you  don't  '  five  dollar'  me." 

I  went  out  to  Fashion  Course — 

I  wished  to  see  the  race ; 
I  found  a  crowd  of  sharpers  there, 

Collected  in  the  place ; 
"  I'll  lay  the  odds,"  says  one,  "  and  lay 

The  stakes  with  Captain  B." 
Says  I,  "  I'm  from  the  country^ 

But  you  don't  '  captain I  me." 

I  took  a  walk  about  the  course, 

There  all  the  fun  to  view ; 
They  were  playing  various  little  games, 

And  three-card  montiy  too  ; 


61 


A  thimble-rigger  wished  to  bet 
I  could  not  find  the  "  the  pea ;" 

Says  I,  u  I'm  from  the  country, 
But  you  don't  '  thimble*  me." 

I  visited  a  billiard- room, 

But  felt  inclined  to  walk 
"When  my  opponent  from  his  pocket 

Pulled  out  a  piece  of  chalk ; 
He  let  me  win  two  quarter-games — 

"  Play  for  a  V,"  says  he ; 
Says  I,  "  Tm  from  the  country, 

But  you  don't  *  perform '  on  me." 

You'll  think  I'm  fond  of  singing — 

The  charge,  I  own,  is  true ; 
Who  would  not  be  delighted 

To  amuse  such  friends  as  you  ? 
But  when  I  come  to  sing  a  song, 

You  shout  for  two  or  three  ; 
I'm  a  young  man  from  the  country, 

But  you  don't  get  over  me. 


And  Home  I  came  Merry  at  last. 

Sorrow's  a  sniveling  boy, 

Corporal  Care's  a  bore, 
I'm  for  General  Joy, 

His  is  a  light-hearted  corps. 

Chorus — Sing  fal  de  ral,  etc. 

Galyy  my  knapsack  I  slung, 

Marching  where  bullets  flew  fast, 

As  loud  as  they  whistled  I  sung, 
And  home  I  came  merry  at  last. 


63 

Oh,  why  did  you  Die? 

Copied  "by  permission  of  Wk  A.  Pond  <fc  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  why  did  you  die  when  the  flowers  were  springing, 

And  winter's  wild  tempests  had  vanished  away  ? 
"When  the  swallow  was  come,  and  the  sweet  lark  was 
singing, 

From  the  morn  to  the  eve  of  the  beautiful  day  ? 
Oh,  why  did  you  go  when  the  summer  was  coming, 

And  the  heather  was  blue  as  your  own  sunny  eye  ? 
When  the  bee  on  the  blossom  was  drowsily  humming, 

Mavourneen  !  mavourneen  1  oh,  why  did  you  die  ? 
Achora  machree,  you  are  ever  before  me, 

I  scarce  see  the  heavens  to  which  }*ou  are  gone, 
So  dark  are  the  clouds  of  despair  which  lie  o'er  me, 

Oh,  pray  for  me,  pray  at  the  Mighty  One's  throne ; 
Oh,  plead  that  the  chain  of  my  bondage  may  sever, 

That  to  thee  and  our  Father  my  freed  soul  may  fly ; 
Or  the  cry  of  my  spirit  forever  and  ever, 

Shall  be — oh,  mavourneen,  oh,  why  did  you  die  V 


Sally,  Oome  Up. 


Copied  "by  permission  ofIlEXRYToLMAN&  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
291  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright- 

Massa's  gone  the  news  to  hear, 

And  he  has  left  the  overseer, 

To  look  to  all  de  niggers  here 

While  I  make  love  to  Sally. 

CHORrs — She's  such  a  belle,  a  real  dark  swell, 

She  dresses  so  sweet  and  looks  so  well, 

Dar's  not  a  gal  like  Sally ; 

Sally,  r-ome  up,  Sally,  come  down, 

Oh,  Sally,  come  twist  your  heel  around, 

De  old  man  he's  gone  down  to  town, 

Oh,  Sally,  come  down  de  middle 


63 


Monday  night  I  gave  a  ball, 

And  I  invite  de  darkies  all ; 

The  thick,  the  thin,  the  short,  the  tall, 

But  none  come  up  to  Sally. 

De  fiddle  was  played  by  Pompey  Jones, 
Uncle  Ned  he  shook  de  bones ; 
Joe  he  played  de  pine-stick  stones, 
But  I  made  love  to  Sally. 

Sally's  got  a  lubly  nose, 
And  flat  across  her  face  it  grows ; 
It  sounds  like  thunder  when  it  blows, 
Such  a  lubly  nose  has  Sally. 


My  Own,  My  Guiding  Star. 

Thy  gentle  light  would  lead  me  on, 

My  own,  my  guiding  star, 
Till  every  sense  of  life  were  gone, 

E'en  wert  thou  placed  afar ; 
And  now  thou  deign'st  so  near  to  shine, 

With  rays  that  warm  and  cheer, 
The  surest,  firmest  hopes  are  mine, 

My  soul  is  strange  to  fear. 
Chorus — Yes,  thy  gentle  light  shall  lead  me  on, 

My  own,  my  guiding  star. 

Thou  need'st  not  doubt,  thou  need'st  not  grieve, 

I  bear  a  potent  spell, 
Be  certain  love  will  ne'er  deceivt 

The  heart  that  serves  him  well  ; 
I  know  my  path  will  lead  me  . "    it, 

With  such  a  prize  in  view, 
And  happy  omens  bless  my  sight, 

That  must,  that  shall  be  true. 


64 


Molly  Doolan. 

The  shamrock  is  a  purty  weed, 

"When  first  the  bright  dew  tips  it ; 
Oi^d  Irish  whisky  lubricates 

The  throat  of  him  that  sips  it  ; 
And  though  these  same  I  much  admire, 

Wid  me  the  passion  rulin', 
Is  fondness  for  a  Kerry  maid, 

A  certain  Molly  Doolan. 

Singing  fol  de  lol,  etc. 

As  mere  gossoons  our  love  began, 

Increased  as  we  grew  oulder : 
Bedad,  I  never  shall  forget, 

When  first  my  love  I  towld  her ; 
She  gave  her  eye  a  saucy  twist, 

She  thought  that  I  waa  fooling 
But  I  squeezed  her  waist  and  kissed  her  cheek, 

"  Och,  sure  !"  cried  Molly  Doolan. 
Singing  fol  de  lol,  etc. 

She  said,  *  You  can't  support  a  wife, 

You  know  you  can  not,  Barney ;" 
But  soon  I  made  her  howld  her  peace, 

I  trapped  her  wid  my  blarney ; 
I  said,  "  I've  fifteen  pounds  a  year, 

I've  never  had  much  schoolin', 
But  two  can  live  as  cheap  as  one ;" 

"  All  right  P  said  Molly  Doolan. 
Singing  fol  de  lol,  «tc. 


BEADLE'S 


Song  Book 


No.  16. 


▲  COLLECTION  OF  NEW  AND  POPCLAB 


COMIC  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


BEADLE    -AJNX)    COMPANY, 
NEW    YORK:    118   WILLIAM    STREET. 

GENERAL  DIME  BOOK  PTJBLISHERa 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE. 

The  music,  with  pianoforte  arrangement,  of  any  of  the 
songs  in  Beadle's  Dimb  Song  Books,  can  be  obtained  of,  or 
ordered  through,  any  regular  News  or  Periodical  dealer  ;  or 
may  be  procured  direct  of  the  publishers,  whose  names 
and  address  are  attached  to  many  of  the  pieces. 

Beadle  and  Company. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865, 

By  BEADLE  AND   COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 

for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


(S.  B.  16.) 


CONTENTS  No.  16. 


PAGE. 

Beautiful  Annie, 49 

Brave  boys  are  they,  36 

44  Coming  home,"  or  "  the  cruel  war  is  orer,"        -  15 

Dark-eyed  Norma, 6 

Do  you  think  of  the  days  that  are  gone,  Jennie,    -  51 

Famous  oil  firms,        -        -        -   "   -        -        -  Gl 

Follow  the  drum, 37 

Gen.  Sherman  and  his  brave  boys  in  blue,        -  44 

Grant's  the  man,     -        -        -     -    -        -        -        -  26 

I -built  a  bridge  of  fancies, 55 

Idaho, 43 

It's  all  up  in  Dixie, 23 

1  feints  to  go  home,  (Maximilian's  lament),   -        -  7 

I've  a  home  in  the  valley, 23 

Jeff,  in  petticoats, 38 

Johnny  Bell's  wooing, 31 

Josephine  to  Napoleon, 11 

We  are  coming  from  the  cotton  fields.  46 

Limerick  is  beautiful, 14 

Listen,  dear  Fanny, 35 

Lora  Vale, 32 

Lorena, 47 

Mind  you  that ! 25 

Moonlight  and  starlight, 53 

My  little  angel, 57 

My  mothers  cot, 60 

My  pretty  quadroon, 40 

Oh,  send  me  one  flower  from  his  grave,     -        -  33 

One  by  one  they  crossed  the  river,         -        -        -  63 

Our  dear  New  England  boys,  24 

Paddle  vour  own  canoe, 41 

Pat  Malloy, 34 

Paul  Vane, 50 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB. 

Picture  on  the  wall,    -        -        -  . "  •  -        -        -  13 

Pompey  Jones, 9 

Poor  mother,  Willie's  gone,  29 

Putting  on  airs, 20 

Rain  on  the  roof, 10 

Richmond  is  ours, 42 

Sherman's  march  to  the  sea,       -        -        *        -  18 

That's  where  the  laugh  comes  in,  -        -        -        -  28 

The  Colleen  Bawn, 14 

The  dream  of  home,       -        -        -        -        -        -  59 

The  negro  emancipation  song,  54 

The  old  bachelor's  song, 30 

The  prisoner's  hope,    ------  17 

The  soldier's  welcome  home, 62 

The  "  sour  apple-tree," 13 

Those  laughing  eyes, 19 

Toll  the  bell  mournfully,    -----  16 

Tramp!  tramp!  tramp! 17 

Victory  at  last, 5 

Wake  Nicodemus, 8 

We  are  marching  on  to  victory,  52 

We's  a  gwine  to  fight, 56 

ZulaZong, 58 


BEADLE'S 

DIME  SONG  BOOK  No.  16. 


Victory  at  Last.* 

Copied  br  permipsion  ofW*.  B.  BRADBnrr,  Music  Publisher, 
425  Broome  St.,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

For  many  years  we've  waited, 

To  hail  the  day  of  peace, 
When  our  land  shall  be  united, 

And  war  and  strife  shall  cease ; 
And  now  that  day  approaches, 
The  drums  are  beating  fast ; 
An4  all  the  boys  are  coming  home, 
There's  victory  at  last  J 
Chorus — There's  victory  at  last,  boy 3, 
Victory  at  last, 
O'er  land  and  sea  our  flag  is  free, 

"We'll  nail  it  to  the  mast ; 
Yes,  we'll  nail  it  to  the  mast,  boys, 

Nail  it  to  to  the  mast, 
For  there's  victory,  victory, 
Victory  at  last. 

The  heroes  who  have  gained  it, 

And  lived  to  see  that  day, 
We  will  meet  with  flying  banners, 

And  honors  on  the  way  ; 
\nd  all  their  sad  privations 

Shall  to  the  wind  be  cast, 
For  all  the  boys  are  coming  home, 

There's  victory  at  last  !  (Chorus.) 

•  Sun?  at  the  raising  of  the  "old  nag"  over  Fort   Sumter, 
April  14th,  1SC5. 


Oh,  happy  wives  and  children, 

Light  up  your  hearts  and  homes, 
For  6ee,  with  martial  music, 

"  The  conquering  hero  comes," 
With  flags  and  streamers  flying, 

While  drums  are  beating  fast : 
For  all  the  boys  are  coming  home, 

There's  victory  at  last.  (Chorus.) 


Dark-Eyed  Norma. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wji.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh !  dark-eyed  Norina,  so  winning  and  fair, 

I'm  dreaming  of  you,  with  your  glossy  black  hair; 

Tho'  years  have  flown  o'er  us  since  we  two  last  met, 

The  love  of  our  childhood  I'll  never  forget ; 

Say,  don't  you  remember  those  dear  early  days, 

The  vine-covered  school-house,  our  light-hearted  plays, 

The  brook  in  the  meadow,  the  old  mill  of  stone, 

The  kisses  I  stole,  love,  when  we  were  alone? 

Oh !  dark-eyed  Norina,  my  heart  breathes  a  sigh. 

For  you  and  the  pleasures  forever  gone  by  ! 

Ah  !  why  did  they,  darling,  our  pathways  divide  ? 

How  sweet  were  life's  journey  with  you  by  my  side ; 

Your  image  I  cherish  in  sorrow  and  tears, 

The  one  golden  ray  in  the  gloom  of  my  years ; 

The  faces  of  childhood  return,  love,  to  me, 

But  yours  is  the  fairest  of  all  that  I  see ; 

Old  care-bringing  Time  seems  to  pause  in  his  flow, 

To  dream  in  the  sunshine  of  days  long  ago ! 

Oh !  dark-eyed  Norma,  my  heart  breathes  a  sigh, 

For  you  and  the  pleasures  forever  gone  by ! 


"Oh!  IVantstogoHome." 

Copied  by  permission  of  Endues  &  Coxpton,  Music  Publishers, 
62  Fourth  St.,  St.  Louis,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

"  Oh  !  I  vants  to  go  home,"  was  the  doleful  cry, 

That  came  mournfully  o'er  the  sea, 
To  the  ears  of  the  Emperor  of  the  French, 

From  his  Austrian  protege. 
u  Oh  !  I  vants  to  go  home  vare  de  sauer-kraut  grows, 

And  de  lager  bier  flows  like  de  streams, 
Oh  !  goot  leber  vurst,  mit  pretzels  and  bier, 

Are  de  themes  of  my  midnight  dreams." 

CHORUS. 

"  Oh !  I  vants  to  go  home  and  I  vill  go  home, 
For  dat  big  chap  dat  lives  next  to  me, 

Has  vipped  all  his  foes,  and  I  very  veil  knows, 
Dat  next  he  vill  pitch  into  me. 

|  "  I  don't  like  dese  J  greasers,'  and  didn't  vant  to  come, 

But  you  made  me  de  promise  so  fine, 
Dat  you  gif  me  de  sogers,  de  gelt  and  all  dat, 

And  de  empire  so  grand  be  mine, 
But  mine  friend  Jeff  is  vipped,  he  runs  here  if  he  can, 

And  den  Unkel  Sam  comes,  I  fear, 
Oh !  let  me  come  back  to  de  dear  vaterland, 

It  is  so  very  unhealthy  here. 

"  I  dakes  it  all  back,  vat  I  said  'bout  de  crown, 

Dat  all  vas  a  6chwindel,  jou  know, 
You  vill  6heat  me  out  of  my  rights,  if  you  can, 

But  I  vill  not  be  hoombuged  so. 
I  vill  come  back  vare  de  sauerkraut  grows, 

And  de  lager  bier  flows  like  de  streams, 
Oh  !  goot  leber  vurst,  mit  pretzels  and  bier, 

Are  de  themes  of  my  midnight  dreams." 


Wake  Nicodemus. 

Copied   by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publisher*, 
95  Clark  etreet,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Nicodemus,  the  slave,  was  of  African  birth, 

And  was  bought  for  a  bagful  of  gold ; 
He  was  reckoned  as  part  of  the  salt  of  the  earth, 

But  he  died  years  ago,  very  old ; 
'Twas  his  last  sad  request — so  we  laid  him  away 

In  the  trunk  of  an  old  hollow  tree ; 
"  Wake  me  up,"  was  his  charge, "  at  the  first  break  of  day ; 

Wake  me  up  for  the  great  Jubilee !" 

CHORUS. 

The  "  Good  Time  Coming "  is  almost  here, 
It  was  long,  long,  long  on  the  way ; 

Now  run  and  tell  Elijah  to  hurry  up  Pomp, 

And  meet  us  at  the  gum-tree  down  in  the  swamp, 
To  wake  Nicodemus  to-day. 
He  was  known  as  a  prophet — at  least  was  as  wise — 

For  he  told  of  the  battles  to  come  ; 
And  we  trembled  with  dread  when  he  rolled  up  his  eyes, 

And  we  heeded  the  shake  of  his  thumb ; 
Though  he  clothed  us  with  fear,  yet  the  garments  he  wore 

Were  in  patches  at  elbow  and  knee ; 
And  he  still  wears  the  suit  that  he  used  to  of  yore, 

As  he  sleeps  in  the  old  hollow  tree. 

Nicodemus  was  never  the  sport  of  the  lash, 

Though  the  bullet  has  oft  crossed  his  path ; 
There  were  none  of  his  masters  so  brave  or  so  rash 

As  to  face  such  a  man  in  his  wrath ; 
Yet  his  great  heart  with  kindness  was  filled  to  the  brim, 

He  obeyed  who  was  born  to  command ; 
But  he  longed  for  the  morning  which  then  was  so  dim — 

For  the  morning  which  now  is  at  hand. 


'Twas  a  long,  weary  night — we  were  almost  in  fear 

That  the  future  was  more  than  he  knew ; 
'Twas  a  long,  weary  night — but  the  morning  is  near, 

And  the  words  of  our  prophet  are  true ; 
There  are  signs  in  the  sky  that  the  darkness  is  gone — 

There  are  tokens  in  endless  array ; 
"While  the  storm  which  had  seeminglybanished  the  dawn 

Only  hastens  the  advent  of  day. 


Pompey  Jones. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

My  name  is  Pompey  Jones,  I'm  a  bold  volunteer, 
I's  just  come  home  from  Dixie  to  meet  my  Susie  dear  ; 
I  was  down  in  all  de  fights  by  de  Chickahominy, 
Fs  home  on  a  furlough  my  Susie  for  to  see. 

CHORUS. 

But  dat  'ar  gal  has  stole  herself  from  me, 

She  lubs  anudder  nigger,  yet  clis  chile  will  happy  be. 

Oh,  Susie  has  got  eyes  like  stars  of  de  night, 
When  dey  look  upon  dis  nigger  dey  shine  so  berry  bright; 
But  dis  child  will  nebber  lub  her  as  once  he  did  before, 
For  she's  proved  herself  a  traitor  while  Pomp  was  off 
to  war. 

But  Pompey  doesn't  care,  his  heart  nebber'll  break, 
For  dar  ar  plenty  gals  for  to  court  and  no  mistake ; 
So  let  de  ole  gal  slide,  she's  seceded — let  her  go ! 
Jump  over  double  trouble,  den  upon  de  heel  and  toe. 

Now,  if  you  fall  in  lub,  be  careful  of  de  gal 
Dat  says  she  lubs  you  awful,  an*  sports  a  balmoral ; 
For  while  you're  off  to  war,  now  dis  am  sure  a  fac', 
She'll  get  anudder  feller,  an'  just  gib  you  de  sack. 


10 


The  Eain  on  the  Roof. 

Copied   by  permission    of  H.   M.  IIiggins,  Music   Publisher, 
117  Randolph  street,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

When  the  humid  shadows  hover 

Over  all  the  starry  spheres, 
And  the  melancholy  darkness 

Gently  weeps  in  rainy  tears, 
What  a  joy  to  press  the  pillow 

Of  a  cottage  chamber  bed, 
And  to  listen  to  the  patter 

Of  the  soft  rain  overhead. 

CHORUS. 

Hear  it  patter,  tinkle,  murmur,  as  it  falls  upon  the  roof, 
Hear  it  patter,  tinkle,  murmur,  as  it  falls  upon  the  roof. 
Ev'ry  tinkle  on  the  shingles 

Has  an  echo  in  the  heart ; 
And  a  thousand  dreamy  fancies 

Into  busy  being  start ; 
And  a  thousand  recollections 

Weave  their  bright  hues  into  woof, 
As  I  listen  to  the  patter 

Of  the  rain  upon  the  roof. 
Kow  in  fancy  comes  my  mother, 

As  she  used  to,  years  agone, 
To  survey  her  darling  dreamers, 

Ere  she  left  them  till  the  dawn ; 
Oh,  I  see  her  bending  o'er  me, 

As  I  list  to  this  refrain, 
Which  is  played  upon  the  shingles 

By  the  patter  of  the  rain. 
Then  my  little  seraph  sister, 

With  her  wings  and  waving  hair, 
And  her  bright-eyed  cherub  brother — 

A  serene  angelic  pair — 


11 


Glide  around  my  wakeful  pillow, 

With  their  praise  or  mild  reproof, 
As  I  listen  to  the  murmur 

Of  the  soft  rain  on  the  roof. 
And  another  comes  to  thrill  mo 

"With  her  eyes'  delicious  blue ; 
And  forget  I,  gazing  on  her, 

That  her  heart  was  all  untrue ; 
I  remember  but  to  love  her 

With  a  rapture  kin  to  pain, 
And  my  heart's  quick  pulses  vibrate 

To  the  patter  of  the  rain. 
There  is  naught  in  art's  bravuras 

That  can  work  with  such  a  spell 
In  the  spirit's  pure,  deep  fountains, 

Whence  the  holy  passions  well, 
As  that  melody  of  nature, 

That  subdued,  subduing  strain 
Which  is  played  upon  the  shingles 

By  the  patter  of  the  rain. 


Josephine  to  Napoleon. 

Rest,  for  thou  art  weary,  whilst  thine  eyelids  close, 

I'll  be  the  bird  that  loves,  that  loves  the  rose, 

And  warble,  warble  o'er  thy  sweet  repose ; 

For  thou  hast  said  such  music  flows 

From  these  fond  lips  as  o'er  thee  throws 

The  only  calm  Napoleon  knows. 

My  song  is  sorrowful,  'gainst  my  better  will, 

Strange  fears  arise,  as  if  some  coming  ill, 

Did  bid  my  trembling,  trembling  voice  be  still ; 

No  more  'twill  breathe  in  this  loved  scene, 

No  longer  charm  Napoleon's  dream, 

Grief  breaks  the  heart  of  Josephine. 


12 


The  Picture  on  the  Wall. 

Copied  by  permission  of    Root  &  Cjldt,  Music    Publisher!, 
85  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Tis  noon  of  night :  the  sable  clouds, 

Hang  weeping  in  the  sky  ; 
Alone  I  sit,  where  fancies  flit, 

Like  spectral  shadows,  by. 
Methinks  I  see  familiar  forms, 
And  one  before  them  all — 
So  fair,  so  calm,  so  wondrous  like 
The  picture  on  the  wall. 
Chorus — Among  the  brave  and  loyal, 
How  many  loved  ones  fall ! 
Whose  friends  bereft  have  only  left 
A  picture  on  the  wall. 

I  hear  the  press  of  eager  feet, 

Upon  my  parlor  floor  ; 
A  moment,  and  my  willing  arms 

Enclasp  my  boy  once  more. 
I  feel  his  warm  breath  on  my  cheek, 

But  when  his  name  I  call, 
A  shadowy  finger  points  me  to 

His  picture  on  the  wall. 

The  moon's  full  radiance  struggles  through, 

And  lights  my  room  once  more ; 
And  thus  shall  heaven,  oh  heart  of  mine 

Thy  seeming  loss  restore. 
Its  light  shall  gild  the  present  gloom, 

And  sweeter  spells  enthrall, 
Than  that  which  binds  me  to  this  sweet, 

True  picture  on  the  wall. 


13 


The  "Sour  Apple  Tree." 

Copied  by  permission  of  Olivir  Ditson  A  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  Yankee  boys  have  caught  him, 

The  traitor,  old  Jeff.  D. ! 
I  wonder  if  they'll  hang  him, 

To  the  "  Sowr  Apple  Tree  ?" 
Don't  you  think  it  will  be  right  ? 

And  justice,  I  declare  ! 
To  hang  him  up  "  to  dry,'*  my  boys, 
And  dangle  in  the  air ! 
Chorus — The  Yankee  boys  have  caught  him, 
The  traitor,  old  Jeff.  D. ! 
I  wonder  if  they'll  hang  him 
On  the  "  Sour  Apple  Tree !" 

Oh,  when  our  soldiers  found  him, 

I'll  bet  he  did  "  look  rich," 
With  the  "  petticoats  "  around  him, 

As  he  stood  in  the  "  last  ditch  P 
Old  Jeff,  he  wasn't  wise 

With  "  boots  "  on,  don't  you  see  ? 
It  was  a  splendid  sight  I'm  sure, 

Such  ■  Southern  Chivalry  !"     (Chorus.) 

Now,  if  they  hang  him,  it  will  be 

A  moral  lesson  taught 
To  those  who  might  in  future  time, 

Like  him  be  evil  fraught. 
Some  think  it  will  be  right — 

Whatever  it  may  be, 
I  really  think  they'll  hang  him 

To  the  "  Sour  Apple  Tree  P     (Chorus.) 


14 


The  Colleen  Bawn, 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  Limerick  is  beautiful,  as  everybody  knows ; 
The    river    Shannon,   full   of  fish,  beside    that   city 

flows  ; 
Tis  not  the  river  nor  the  fish  that  weighs  upon  me 

mind, 
Nor  wid  the  town  of  Limerick  I've  any  fault  to  find. 
Oh,  the  girl  I  love  is  beautiful,  she's  bright-eyed  as  a 

fawrn, 
She  lives  at  Garryowen.  and  she's  called  the  Colleen 

Bawn ; 
And  proudly  as  that  river  flows   beside   that  great 

city, 
Still  prouder,  and  without  a  smile,  that  colleen  goes 

by  me. 
Oh,  hone !  oh,  hone !  Oh,  Limerick   is  beautiful,  as 

everybody  knows. 

Oh,  if  I  was  the  Emperor  of  Russia  to  command, 
Or  Julius  Caesar,  or  the  Lord-Lieutenant  of  the  land, 
I'd  give  me  goold  and  silver  plate,  likewise  me  arm}', 
The  Horse-Guards,  the  Rifles,  and  the  Royal  Artillery ; 
I'd  give  the  crowrn  from  off  me  head,  me  people  on 

their  knee ; 
I'd   give    me   fleet   of    sailing-ships   upon   the  briny 

sea; 
A  beggar  I  would  go  to  rest,  to  rise  at  early  dawn, 
If  by  me  side,  just  as  a  bride,  I'd  find  the  Colleen 

Bawn. 
Oh,  hone  !  oh,  hone !  Oh,  Eiley,   you're   me   darlin', 

Acushla  Gramacree  1 


15 


"  Coming  Home." 


Copied  bvpermlesion  of  Sawyer  &  Thompson  Muse  rublitncrs, 
59  Fulton  Ave.  Brooklyn,  owners  of  the  topyrigiii. 

Hark!  the  boys  are  coming! 

Don't  you  hear  them  tramp  ? 
Here  they  come,  with  banners  stained  and  torn  \ 

See  their  cheerful  faces 

As  they  leave  the  camp — 
Marching  on  their  happy  journey  home. 
Chorus — Coming  home,  coming  home, 

Don't  you  hear  the  drum  ? 
Yes,  they're  coming  home,  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 

The  cruel  war  is  over, 

The  noble  work  is  done  ; 
They're  coming,  they  are  coming  from  the  war 

Hearts  that  seemed  as  breaking, 

Throb  with  joy  to-day  ; 
Eyes  are  bright  that  long  were  dimmed  with  tears  ; 

Hopes  that  seemed  as  vanished, 

Now  are  light  and  gay, 
Doubting  ones  have  banished  all  their  fears. 

Boys,  don't  keep  us  waiting, 

Quickly  march  along  ! 
Loving  ones  are  watching  at  the  door, 

Listening  for  footsteps, 

Since  the  early  morn, 
Come  and  live  in  peace  forevermore. 

Now  the  war  is  over, 

May  we  soon  forget 
Troubles  that  have  passed  and  sorrows  gont ; 

Hoping  that  the  star 

Of  Peace  will  never  set, 
Praying  for  the  Nation  u  newly  born." 


16 


Toll  the  Bell  Mournfully. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Lek  &  Walker,  Music  Publishers, 
7*22  Chestnut  street,  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Toll  the  bell  mournfully,  toll  the  bell  slow, 

Toll  the  bell  solemnly,  toll  the  bell  low ; 

The  Chief  of  the  land  is  taken  awa}% 

The  Nation  in  grief  is  mourning  to-day. 

Mantle  his  form  with  the  flag  of  the  land, 

The  symbol  of  peace  then  place  in  his  hand. 

CHORUS. 

Toll  the  bell  mournfully,  toll  the  bell  slow, 
Toll  the  bell  solemnly,  toll  the  bell  low ; 
The  Chief  of  the  land  is  taken  away, 
The  Nation  in  grief  is  mourning  to-day. 

Toll  the  bell  mournfully,  toll  the  bell  slow, 
Toll  the  bell  solemnly,  toll  the  bell  low  ; 
The  Chief  of  the  land  is  taken  away, 
The  Nation  in  grief  is  mourning  to-day. 
Place  on  his  breast  a  wreath  of  sweet  flowers, 
Gathered  with  care,  fresh  from  the  bowers. 

Toll  the  bell  mournfully,  toll  the  bell  slow, 

Toll  the  bell  solemnly,  toll  the  bell  low ; 

The  Chief  of  the  land  is  taken  away, 

The  Nation  in  grief  is^mourning  to-day. 

Take  him  with  care  away  to  his  rest, 

Where  naught  shall  disturb  the  peace  of  his  breast 

Toll  the  bell  mournfully,  toll  the  bell  slow, 
Toll  the  bell  solemnly,  toll  the  bell  low ; 
The  Chief  of  the  land  is  taken  away, 
The  Nation  in  grief  is  mourning  to-day 
High  on  his  tomb  the  banner  unfold, 
Sculpture  his  name  in  letters  of  gold. 


Tramp!  Tramp!  Tramp! 

Copied    by  pcrmipeion  of   Root  &  Cadt.   Music   Publishers* 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

In  the  prison  cell  I  sit, 

Thinking,  mother  dear,  of  you, 
And  our  bright  and  happy  home  so  far  away : 
And  the  tears  they  till  my  eyes, 
Spite  of  all  that  I  can  do, 
Though  I  try  to  cheer  my  comrades  and  be  gaj. 

CHORUS. 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  the  boys  are  marching, 
Cheer  up,  comrades,  they  will  come  • 

And  beneath  the  starry  flag 

We  shall  breathe  the  air  again 
Of  the  free  land  in  our  own  beloved  home. 

In  the  battle  front  we  stood 

When  their  fiercest  charge  they  made, 
And  they  swept  us  otF  a  hundred  men  or  more ; 

But  before  we  reached  their  lines, 

They  were  beaten  back  dismayed, 
And  we  heard  the  cry  of  victory  o'er  and  o'er. 

So  within  the  prison  cell, 
We  are  waiting  for  the  day 
That  shall  come  to  open  wide  the  iron  door  ; 
And  the  hollow  eye  grows  bright, 
And  the  poor  heart  almost  gay, 
As  we  think  of  seeing  home  and  friends  once  more. 

CHORUS. 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  the  boys  are  marching, 
Cheer  up,  comrades,  they  will  come  ; 

And  beneath  the  starry  flag 

We  shall  breath  the  air  again 
Of  the  free  land  in  our  own  beloved  home. 


18 


Sherman's  March  to-  the  Sea. 

Copied  by  permission  of  H.  M.  Higgins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  St.,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Our  camp-fires  shone  bright  on  the  mountains 

That  frowned  on  the  river  below, 
While  we  stood  by  our  guns  in  the  morning, 

And  eagerly  watched  for  the  foe  ; 
When  a  rider  came  out  from  the  darkness, 

That  hung  over  mountain  and  tree, 
And  shouted,  "  Boys,  up  and  be  ready, 

For  Sherman  will  march  to  the  sea." 

Then  cheer  upon  cheer  for  bold  Sherman, 

Went  up  from  each  valley  and  glen, 
And  the  bugles  re-echoed  the  music, 

That  came  from  the  lips  of  the  men — 
For  wre  knew  that  the  stars  on  our  banner, 

More  bright  in  their  splendor  w7ould  be, 
And  that  blessings  from  Northland  would  greet  us, 

When  Sherman  marched  down  to  the  sea. 

Then  forward,  boys,  forward  to  battle, 

We  marched  on  our  wearisome  wray, 
And  wre  stormed  the  wild  hills  of  Resaca, 

God  bless  those  who  fell  on  that  day ! — 
Then  Kenesaw,  dark  in  its  glory, 

Frowned  down  on  the  flag  of  the  free, 
But  the  East  and  the  West  bore  our  standards, 

And  Sherman  marched  down  to  the  sea. 

Still  onward  we  pressed,  till  our  banners 
Swept  out  from  Atlanta's  grim  walls, 

And  the  blood  of  the  patriot  dampened 
The  soil  where  the  traitor's  flag  falls ; 


19 


But  we  paused  not  to  weep  for  the  fallen, 
Who  slept  by  each  river  and  tree, 

Yet  we  twined  them  a  wreath  of  the  laurel, 
As  Sherman  marched  down  to  the  sea. 

Oh,  proud  was  our  army  that  morning, 

That  stood  where  the  pine  proudly  towers, 
When  Sherman  said,  "  Boys,  you  are  weary, 

This  day  fair  Savannah  is  ours !" 
Then  sung  we  a  song  for  our  chieftain, 

That  echoed  o'er  river  and  lea, 
And  the  stars  in  our  banner  shone  brighter, 

When  Sherman  marched  down  to  the  sea. 


Those  Laughing  Eyes. 

Those  laughing  eyes,  those  laughing  eyes, 

How  beautiful  and  bright  r- 
Like  glittering  gems,  like  glittering  gems, 

They  sparkle  in  the  light. 
As  sunlight  on  the  dancing  waves, 

Those  radiant  orbs  of  thine, 
As  coral  from  the  rocky  cave, 

Yes,  brilliantly  they  shine. 

Those  laughing  eyes,  those  laughing  eyes, 

They  wreathe  a  magic  spell, 
Round  the  enchanted  gazer's  heart ; 

In  vain  he  breathes  farewell. 
He  seems  to  doubt,  now  gazes  still — - 

Now  hope,  now  fear  denies ; 
One  look  of  love  the  senses  thrill, 

From  those  dear  laughing  eyes. 


20 


Putting  on  Airs. 


Copied   by  permission  of  H.  M.  Higgixs,  Music   Publisher^ 
117  Randolph  street,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Kind  hearers,  will  you  listen  while 

A  closing  song  I  sing : 
Tve  hit  upon  a  happy  theme, 

I  think  the  very  thing ; 
I  do  not  wish  to  mix  at  all 

In  any  one's  affairs, 
But  my  opinion  is  just  now, 

That  some  folks  put  on  airs. 

Chorus — There's  no  use  talking,  no  use  talking, 
The  truth  itself  declares, 
If  you  do  as  folks  of  fashion  do, 
You've  got  to  put  on  airs. 

It's  the  fashion  now  each  year 

For  industrial  men 
To  show  the  best  of  art  and  skill, 

Fine  stock,  choice  fruits  and  grain ; 
But  when  these  working  people  come 

To  hold  their  annual  fairs, 
Whoever  takes  a  premium, 

Oh,  don't  he  put  on  airs  ?         (Chorus.) 

Now,  when  a  girl  is  u  coming  out," 

She  really  thinks  she's  "  some  " — 
A  "  foreign  beau,"  with  a  big  mustach, 

She  always  welcomes  home ; 
Two  hours  before  her  looking-glass, 

To  catch  him  she  prepares, 
And  when  she  gets  her  "  fix-ups"  on, 

Oh,  don't  she  put  on  airs  ?        (Chorus.) 


21 


Oh,  when  a  boy  is  nearly  grown. 

Although  he's  "  nary  red," 
With  neither  beard  upon  his  face, 

Nor  brains  within  his  head, 
He'll  patronize  the  tailor's  shop, 

On  tick  buy  all  he  wears, 
But  when  he  gets  among  the  girls, 

Oh,  don't  he  put  on  airs  ?         (Chorus.) 

The  politician  at  the  polls 

Election  day  will  stand, 
And  bow,  and  smile,  and  wire-pull, 

And  shake  each  voter's  hand ; 
But  when  he  gets  into  office, 

Why,  that  is  all  he  cares ; 
He  thinks  himself  important,  then, 

And  don't  he  put  on  airs  ?        (Chorus.) 

Then  since  'tis  found  the  world  around 

All  parties  think  they're  right, 
For  free  men,  free  speech  and  free  homes, 

Let  North  and  South  unite ; 
Then  will  all  foreign  powers  know, 

They  can't  with  us  hold  shares  ; 
Our  colors  true,  Red,  White  and  Blue, 

Will  stop  this  putting  on  airs.  (Chorus.) 

Kind  hearers  now  the  time  has  come 

To  bid  you  all  good-night, 
Hoping  with  sentiment  and  song 

I've  made  your  hearts  more  light ; 
To  win  your  smiles  is  my  delight, 

To  banish  crime  and  cares — 
But  I  must  close,  or  you  will  say, 

I,  too,  am  putting  on  airs,         (Chorus.) 


"It's  all  up  in  Dixie." 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

This  cruel  war  now  is  done, 

Poor  old  Jeff. 
The  game  you've  lost,  and  Sam  has  won, 

Poor  old  Jeff. 
You'd  better  just  throw  up  the  thing, 
And  take  what's  called  u  leg-bail," 
But  now  you're  caught  you're  bound  to  swing, 

Poor  old  Jeff. 

Chorl's — "  Its  all  up  "  in  Dixie  ! 
"  It's  all  up  "  in  Dixie ! 
"  The  jig  is  up"  in  Dixie's  land ! 
Let  Union  stand  forever ! 

You  thought,  in  Broadway,  grass  would  grow, 

Poor  old  Jeff. 
I  think  you  find  it  is  "  no  go," 

Poor  old  Jeff. 
When  sugar  grows  on  cherry  trees, 

And  rivers  turn  to  rum, 
The  grass  may  grow  where'er  you  please, 

Poor  old  Jeff.  (Chorus.) 

You've  often  boasted  how  you'd  fight, 

Poor  old  Jeff. 
But  that  "  last  ditch  "  don't  turn  out  right, 

Poor  old  Jeff. 
You'll  find,  in  fighting  for  the  rag 

You  once  so  proudly  flew, 
"  Holdfast  a  better  dog  than  Bragg," 

Poor  old  Jeff.  (Chorus.) 


23 


Four  precious  knaves  are  in  each  pack, 

Poor  old  Jeff. 
You've  had  some  four-score  at  your  back, 

Poor  old  Jeff. 
But  knaves  don't  always  win  the  same, 

You'll  find  out  to  your  cost ; 
Old  Uncle  Sam  holds  u  High,  Low,  Game," 

Poor  old  Jeff.  (Chorus.) 

Your  boys  have  sometimes  nobly  fought, 

Poor  old  Jeff. 
When  bread  and  beef  you  stole  or  bought, 

Poor  old  Jeff. 
But  brave  or  not,  your  hungry  band 

Will  learn,  I  fear,  too  late, 
That  Eight  with  "Might  must  rule  this  land, 

Poor  old  Jeff.  (Chorus.) 


I've  a  Home  in  the  Valley. 

Come  to  the  valley — the  mountain  may  be 
The  joy  of  the  hunter,  the  home  of  the  free. 
There's  peace  in  the  valley,  there's  calm  and  repose, 
Unknown  on  the  hills,  where  the  stormy  wind  blows. 
All  that's  lovely  and  bless'd  in  creation  is  there, 
There  bright  flow'rs  are  flinging  their  sweets  to  the  air, 
'Tis  the  fairy-like  home  of  the  bird  and  the  bee ; 
I've  a  cot  in  the  valley — come  share  it  with  me. 
Come  to  the  valley — the  mountain  has  not 
The  many  fair  blossoms  that  grow  round  my  cot ; 
The  rivulet  gushing,  yet  silently  still, 
Meandering  in  peace  by  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
Oh !  come  while  the  valley  is  fragrant  and  green, 
And  the  distance  around  adds  its  charms  to  the  scene. 
The  mountain's  too  bleak  for  a  flow'ret  like  thee, 
I've  a  home  in  the  valley — come  share  it  with  me. 


24 


Our  Dear  New  England  Boys. 

Copied  by  permission   of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

They  are  sleeping,  sweetly  sleeping, 

Where  the  skies  are  soft  and  mild, 
Where  the  flowers  are  ever  blooming, 

In  their  beauty,  pure  and  wild. 
Where  the  grass  is  freshly  springing, 

O'er  their  lonely,  narrow  grave, 
There  New  England's  sons  are  lying, 
Where  the  orange  branches  wave. 
Chorus — Let  them  rest,  their  work  is  finished, 
Nothing  now  their  sleep  annoys, 
Angels  guard  the  unbroken  slumbers 
Of  our  dear  New  England  boys. 

There  the  birds  are  ever  singing, 

And  the  gentle  zephyrs  play 
Softly  round  the  spot  so  sacred, 

Where  our  gallant  soldiers  lay. 
And  the  sun  in  noonday  brightness, 

Seems  to  shine  in  milder  beams, 
And  the  lingering  rays  of  twilight, 

Sheds  o'er  them  its  holiest  gleams.    (Cho.) 

From  the  clouds  the  moon  looks  sadly 

On  their  green  and  lowly  bed, 
And  with  melancholy  beauty 

Watches  o'er  the  noble  dead. 
All  is  clad  in  verdant  foliage, 

But  they  slumber  far  from  home, 
And  no  more  their  manly  footsteps 

On  New  England's  soil  can  come.      (Cho.) 


25 


While  in  anguish  we  are  weeping, 

Lonely  in  our  northern  land, 
Voices  from  afar  are  whispered, 

Wafted  from  that  fallen  band, 
And  in  loving  tones  they  tell  us 

To  resign  them  cheerfully, 
For  they  died  to   save  their  country, 

And  the  banner  of  the  free.  (Chobus.) 


Mind  you  That. 


Copied  by  permipgion  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Mnsic  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Should  you  love  one  dearly, 

Never  breathe  it  out ! 
Though  he  woo  sincerely, 

Keep  him  still  in  doubt  ; 
Mind  you  that ! 
Tell  him  love's  a  bubble, 

Leave  him  still  in  fears  ; 
More  you  cause  him  trouble, 

Less  he'll  cause  you  tears! 

Mind  you  that,  mind  you  that  I 

Something  sad  in  knowing, 

Love  can  ne'er  endure, 
If  by  too  much  showing, 

Love  is  made  too  sure  ; 
Mind  you  that ! 
Pique  him  well,  and  spare  not, 

Ever}*  time  ye  meet ; 
If  you  seem  to  care  not, 

Soon  he's  at  your  feet ! 

Mind  you  that,  mind  you  that! 


26 


Grant's  the  Man. 


Copied  "by  permission    of  J.   Marsh,    Music    Publisher,    1102 
Chestnut  street,  Philadelphia,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Our  army  has  a  leader  now 

That's  gallant,  true  and  brave ; 

Though  many  a  one  we've  had  before 

Has  proved  himself  a  knave  ; 

And  honesty's  been  laid  aside, 

While  scrambling  after  pelf, 

As  one  by  one  we've  found  them  out, 

We've  laid  them  on  the  shelf. 

Chorus — Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  Hurrah ! 

For  Grant's  the  man  to  lead  the  van, 

The  rest  are  all  too  slow ; 

But  let  old  Grant  down  on  them  come, 

Away  the  rebels  go. 

At  Donelson  the  rebels  thought 

A  stand  they'd  surely  make, 
But  Grant  informed  the  gentlemen, 

That  place  he'd  surely  take. 
And  when  they  found,  as  soon  they  did 

Resistance  was  iu  vain, 
The  rebel  flag  came  tumbling  down, 

And  ours  went  up  again.  (Chorus,  j 

On  Shiloh's  plains  they  met  him  next, 

An'd  fought  both  long  and  well ; 
And  on  that  bloody  battle-Held, 

Full  man}-  a  hero  fell. 
And  when  the  rebs.  were  gaining  ground, 

And  thought  their  work  was  done, 
"  Forward  !"  cried  Grant,  and  led  the  charge — 

The  battle  soon  was  won.  {Chorus.) 


27 


On  Vicksburg  bights  he  hernm'd  them  in, 

Ami  yet,  with  all  their  boast, 
Old  Grant  made  rebel  Pemberton 

Pel^r  up  that  post. 
Up  Lookout  Mountain's  giddy  bight 

Brave  Hooker  led  the  way, 
While  Grant  the  planning  did,  and  Bragg, 

The  traitor,  lost  the  day.  (Chorus.) 

Then  through  that  bloody  Wilderness 

Where  thousands  fell-,  again 
He  drove  their  proudest  army  back, 

Like  tiger  to  its  den. 
There,  crouched  and  sullen,  did  it  lie. 

While  Grant,  before  the  gate, 
With  that  "  tenacious  "  will  of  his, 

Did  grimly  watch  and  wait.  (Chorus.) 

He  watched  and  waited  ;  day  by  day 

His  lines  did  reach  and  close, 
Till,  sure  and  strong  as  fate,  they  lay 

Around  his  flykig  foes. 
Then  Lee,  the  traitor,  lost  his  sword — 

Then  rebel  Richmond  fell, 
And  Northern  bells  of  victory  rung 

Secessia's  final  knell !  (Chorus.) 

But  now  our  army's  work  is  done — 

Dispelled  are  all  our  fears, 
The  rebel  cause  has  set  in  night, 

The  dawn  of  Peace  appears. 
We'll  shout  aloud,  "  Old  Grant's  the  man !" 

And  nations  soon  will  sec, 
America  shall  ever  be 

The  land  of  Liberty  !  (Chorus.) 


28 

"  That's  Where  the  Laugh  Comes  in." 

Copied  by  permission  of  War  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publish*™, 
647  Broadwaj,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Augustus  Don  Pedro,  a  handsome  yotfcg  man, 

Who  traveled  on  shape,  I  am  told, 
Determined  to  get,  if  he  possbly  could, 

A  wife  who  had  plenty  of  gold. 
So,  filling  his  noddle  with  many  a  plan, 

By  which  he  the  lady  could  win, 
He  hit  upon  one,  which  I  shortly  shall  tell, 

And  "  That's  where  the  laugh  comes  in." 

Chorus — "  That's  where  the  laugh  comes  in,  ha!  ha! 
That's  where  the  laugh  comes  in ; 
'Twas  owing  all  to  the  income  tax, 
And  that's  where  the  laugh  comes  in." 


He  borrowed  a  watch  and  a  massive  gold  chain, 

Rings,  studs,  and,  in  fact,  all  he  could ; 
Then  sold  them  for  greenbacks,  and  shortly  before 

The  income  assessor  he  stood. 
He  handed  the  money  to  one  of  the  clerks, 

Who  entered  his  name  with  a  grin  ; 
He  thought  him  a  nabob,  and  set  him  down  such, 

And  shortly,  "  The  laugh  comes  in," 

While  eagerly  scanning  the  paper  next  day, 

To  his  great  delight  did  appear 
His  name,  with  his  income  in  figures  set  down, 

At  full  twenty  thousand  per  year. 
The  plan  was  successful — he  married  the  girl, 

And  though  he  was  not  worth  a  pin, 
His  wits  got  a  wife  who  had  plenty  for  both, 

And  "  That's  where  the  laugh  comes  in." 


29 


The  father,  enraged  at  the  terrible  "  sell," 

Determined  the  young  man  to  shoot ; 
But,  turning  the  matter  again  in  his  mind, 

Conclu£d  Augustus  to  boot. 
When  calmer  he  grew,  he  thought  he  would  do 

The  best  that  he  could  for  his  kin, 
So  he  gave  them  the  cash,  and  they  cut  quite  a  dash, 

And  M  That's  where  the  laugh  comes  in." 


Poor  Mother!  Willie's  Gone. 

Copied  br  permission  of  Root  &  Cady.  Music  Publishers,  95 
Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Ah,  who  can  tell  her  the  sad,  sad  story, 
And  wring  that  mother's  heart  with  pain ; 

Last  night  so  happy,  with  joy  o'erflowing, 

For  she  said,  u  My  Willie's  coming  home  again." 

Chorus — "  My  Willie's  coming  home  ; 

My  darling  only  son  ;" 
Ah  !   who  can  tell  her  the   sad,  sad   story, 
For  her  Willie  never  more  is  coming  home. 

Poor  Mother !  Willie's  gone. 


Strong,  brave  and  noble,  he  looked  that  morning, 

When  forth  he  went  at  duty's  call; 
Freely  she  gave  him,  nor  tried  to  save  him, 

For  she  said,  "  He  will  come   back,  he  is  my  all." 

Oh  !  that  this  bitter,  this  dreadful  anguish, 
May  not  her  warm  heart  turn  to  stone ; 

Last  night  so  happy,  with  joy  o'erflowing, 

For  she  said,  "  My  darling  Willie's  coming  home." 


80 


The  Old  Bachelor's  Song. 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  Brainap.d  &  Co.,  203  Superior  St., 
Cleveland,  owners  of  the  copyrights 

A  bachelor's  life  is  merry  and  free, 

His  heart  is  not  shrouded  with  care ; 
He  has  no  children  climbing  his  knee, 

And  squalling  and  crying  out  "  Pa." 
But  his  days  roll  on  like  a  pleasant  dream, 

And  are  calm  as  a  summers  sky, 
And  serenely  he  glides  down  time's  hasty  stream, 

Till  the  springs  of  his  life  are  dry. 

He  has  no  wife  who  uses  sweet  words, 

Who  calls  him  "  my  dear"  and  u  my  honey ;" 
Who  warbles  her  voice  like  the  song  of  the  birds 

Whenever  she  wants  any  money ; 
Who  kisses  and  hugs  him  and  says,  "  My  love, 

I  want  a  new  bonnet  and  dress  ;" 
And  thus  it  goes  on  till  the  Benedict  finds, 

He  has  got  in  a  terrible  mess. 

But  a  bachelor's  life  is  untrammelcd  and  free, 

As  the  greatest  of  earthly  kings  ; 
While  the  married  man  must  his  wife  obey, 

And  pack  up  and  be  off  to  the  springs ; 
And  while  the  old  bachelor's  laughing  in  glee, 

And  basking  in  pleasure's  smile, 
The  married  man  is  called  by  a  voice, 

"  My  dear,  take  care  of  that  child." 

The  married  man  is  never  at  ease, 

For  something  is  always  askew  j 
His  wife  will  torment  him  and  henpeck  him  round, 

Till  she  makes  the  poor  fellow  look  blue  ; 


31 


The  bachelor  ha3  no  such  trouble  or  care, 

But  merry  and  happy  is  he  ; 
Then  who  would  not  live  in  a  world  like  this, 

A  bachelor's  life  so  free. 


Johnny  Bell's  Wooing. 

The  day  was  departing  in  bright  golden  flushes. 

When  Johnny  Bell  tappit  at  my  inither's  door  ; 
ily  mither  ca'd  u  Come  in  ;  and  why  a'  those  blushes  ? 

Guid  Johnny  you've  been  here,  man,  aften  afore  !" 
3ut  Johnny  looked  blate,  tho'  his  eyes  were  a'  beaming 

lie  spake  na  to  mither,  he  spake  na  to  me  ; 
I  kenn'd  what  it  meant,  for  last  night  I'd  been  dreaming 

That  blithe  Johnny  Bell  cam'  a  wooing  to  me, 
I  lo'ed  Johnny  Bell  that  my  mither  kenn'd  weel, 

And  weel  I  kenn'd  mither  lo'ed  Johnny  Bell  too  ; 
But  when  a'  the  speech  has  gane  out  o'  a  chiel, 

Tia  hard  for  a  lassie  to  tell  what  to  do. 

Again  cam'  blithe  Johnny  when  bright  fiow'rs  were 
blowing, 

He  lifted  the  latch  and  cam  in  as  o'  yore, 
He  spak'  to  my  mither,  and  tenderly  flowing, 

His  speech  thro'  my  ears  drippit  to  my  heart's  core. 
He  spak'  na  o'  lands,  he  spak'  na  o'  money, 

His  eyes  full  o'  pearl-drops,  he  looked  into  mine, 
And  wP  voice  as  sweet  as  the  fresh  gathered  honey. 

He  said  :  u  Dearest  Jessie,  Oh  !  wilt  thou  be  mine  Tx 
I  lo'ed  Johnny  Bell  that  I  lang  had  kenn'd  weel, 

Lang,  lang  had  I  kenned  Johnny  Bell  lo'ed  me  too  ; 
And  when  there's  true  love  'tween  a  lassie  and  chiel, 

Get  wed  is  the  very  best  thing  they  can  do. 


32 


Lora  Yale. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Pablishew,  95 
Clark  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Calmly  fell  the  silver  moonlight, 

Over  hill  and  over  dale, 
As  with  mournful  hearts  we  lingered 

By  the  couch  of  Lora  Yale. 
She  was  dying,  gentle  Lora, 

She  was  passing  like  a  sigh, 
From  a  world  of  love  and  beauty, 
To  a  brighter  world  on  high. 
Chorus — Lora,  Lora,  still  we  love  thee, 

Though  we  see  thy  form  no  more, 

And  we  know  thou'lt  come  to  meet  us, 

When  we  reach  the  mystic  shore. 

Brightly  dawned  the  morrow's  morning, 

Over  hill  and  over  dale, 
As  with  mournful  hearts  we  lingered 

By  the  side  of  Lora  Vale, 
She  was  almost  at  the  river, 

When  the  light  broke  from  the  sky, 
And  she  smiled  and  whispered  faintly, 

"  I  am  not  afraid  to  die." 

Softly  through  the  trellised  window, 

Came  the  west  wind's  gentle  breath, 
But  she  heeded  not  its  mildness, 

For  she  slept  the  sleep  of  death ; 
And  beyond  the  silver  moonbeams, 

Ay,  beyond  the  stars  of  night, 
Now  she  dwells,  our  darling  Lora, 

In  the  home  of  angels  bright. 


33 


Oh,  Send  me  0110  Flower  from  his  Grave, 

Copied  br  permission  of  IIorace  Waters,  Music  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

They  tell  me  the  valley  is  smiling  and  fair, 

Where  the  form  of  my  boy  lies  asleep, 
That  the  merry  birds  sing  in  the  low  branches  near, 

While  I  sit  In  my  chamber  and  weep. 
To  God  and  my  country  for  weal  and  for  woe, 

This  pledge  of  affection  I  gave  ; 
And  now  he  has  fallen,  I  ask  in  return, 

One  sweet,  simple  flower  from  his  grave. 

CHORUS. 

While  the  merry  birds  sing  in  the  low  branches  near, 
And  above  him  the  green  willows  wave, 

Still  warm  with  the  sunshine,  and  wet  with  the  dew, 
Oh,  send  me  one  flower  from  his  grave. 

The  morning  he  left  me  how  noble  he  looked, 

As  he  bade  me  adieu  on  the  strand, 
And  how  proud  of  her  boy  was  this  poor  mother's  heart 

As  I  kissed  his  warm  tears  from  my  hand  ! 
"  We  fight  for  the  flag,  dearest  mother,"  he  said, 

44  Our  flag  that  the  rebels  defy  ; 
And  now,  boys,  three  cheers  for  the  Banner  we  love, 

We'll  save  it  from  shame  or  we'll  die."    (Chorub.) 

One  blossom,  though  withered,  how  precious  'twill  be, 

That  has  bloomed  near  that  fair,  sunny  head ; 
But  one  dear  little  flow'ret,  tho'  trampled  and  crushed, 

That  has  grown  o'er  my  darling's  lone  bed. 
My  days  are  declining,  and  life's  golden  sun 

Will  set  soon  forever  to  me, 
But  still  that  green  mound  I  shall  see  in  my  dreams, 

Till  my  spirit  from  sorrow  is  free  !       (Chorus.) 


34 


Pat  Malloy. 


Copied  bj  permission  ofliTM.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  MupIc  PubMsken, 
547  Broadway  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

At  sixteen  years  of  age  I  was 

My  mothers  fair-haired  boy ; 
She  kept  a  little  huckster  shop, 

Her  name  it  was  Malloy; 
"  I've  fourteen  children,  Pat,"  says  she, 

"  Which  heaven  to  me  has  sent, 
But  childer  ain't  like  pigs,  you  know — 

They  can't  pay  the  rent !" 
She  gave  me  every  shilling 

There  was  in  the  till, 
And  kissed  me  fifty  times  or  more, 

As  if  she'd  never  get  her  fill  ; 
"  Oh,  heaven  bless  3^011,  Pat,"  s;iys  she, 

"  And  don't  forget,  my  boy, 
That  ould  Ireland  is  your  country, 

And  your  name  is  Pat  Malloy  l" 

Oh,  England  is  a  puriy  place, 

Of  goold  there  is  no  lack — 
I  trudged  from  York  to  London, 

Wid  me  scythe  upon  me  back ; 
The  English  girls  are  beautiful, 

Their  loves  I  don't  decline, 
The  eating  and  the  drinking,  too, 

As  beautiful  and  fine ; 
But  in  a  corner  of  me  heart, 

"Which  nobody  can  see, 
Two  eyes  of  Irish  Blue, 

Are  always  peeping  out  at  me! 


35 

Oh,  Moll j,  darlin',   never  fear, 
I'm  still  your  own  dear  boy — 

Ould  Ireland  is  me  country, 
And  me  name  is  Pat  Malloy. 

From  Ireland  to  America, 

Across  the  seas  I  roam, 
And  every  shilling  that  I  got, 

Ah,  sure,  I  sent  it  home ; 
Me  mother  couldn't  write,  but,  oh, 

There  came  from  Father  Boyce : 
"Oh,  heaven  bless  you,  Pat,"   says  she — 

I  hear  me  mother's  voice  ! 
But  now  I'm  going  home  again, 

As   poor  as  I  began, 
To  make  a  happy  girl  of  Moll, 

And  sure  I  think  I  can ; 
Me  pockets  they  are  empty, 

But  me  heart  is  filled  wid  joy; 
For  ould  Ireland  is  me  country, 

And  me  name  is  Pat  Malloy. 


Listen,  Dear  Fanny. 

Listen,  dear  Fanny,  oh,  listen  to  me, 
Thy  soldier  lad  oilers  his  love-song  to  thee ; 
lie  throws  by  his  sword,  and  each  token  of  war, 
And  wanders  by  night  with  his  peaceful  guitar. 
Chorus — Listen,  dear  Fanny,  oh,  listen  to  me, 

Thy  soldier  lad  offers  his  love-song  to  thee. 

Listen,  dear  Fanny,  though  many  there  be 
Professing  to  love  thee,  none  love  thee  like  me ; 
Beware  of  the  jealous,  oh,  lady,  beware, 
Their  green  eyes  seek  falsehood  in  all  that  is  fair. 


36 


Brave  Boys  are  They. 

Copied   by  permission    of  IT.  M.   Higgixr,   Music   Publisher, 
117  Kandolph  street,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Heavily  falls  the  rain, 

Wild  are  the  breezes  to-night ; 
But  'neath  the  roof,  the  hours  as  they  fly, 

Are  happy,  and  calm,  and  bright. 
Gathering  round  our  fireside, 
Though  it  be  summer-time, 
We  sit  and  talk  of  brothers  abroad, 
Forgetting  the  midnight  chime. 
Chorus — Brave  boys  are  they  ! 

Gone  at  their  country's  call; 
And  yet,  and  yet,  we  can  not  forget, 
That  many  brave  boys  must  falL 

Under  the  homestead  roof, 

Nestled  so  cozy  and  warm, 
While  soldiers  sleep,  with  little  or  naught 

To  shelter  them  from  the  storm, 
Resting  on  grassy  couches, 

Pillowed  on  hillocks  damp,* 
Of  martial  fore,  how  little  we  know, 

Till  brothers  are  in  the  camp.      (Chorus.) 

Thinking  no  less  of  them, 

Loving  our  country  the  more, 
We  sent  them  forth  to  fight  for  the  flag 

Their  fathers  before  them  bore. 
Though  the  great  tear-drops  started, 

This  was  our  parting  trust : 
"  God  bless  you,  boys !  we'll  welcome  you  home, 

When  rebels  are  in  the  dust."       (Chorus.) 


May  the  bright  wings  of  love, 

Guard  them  wherever  they  roam  ; 
The  time  has  come  when  brothers  must  fight, 

And  sisters  must  pray  at  home. 
Q3a  !  the  dread  field  of  battle  ! 

Soon  to  be  strewn  with  graves  ! 
If  brothers  fall,  then  bury  them  where 

Our  banner  in  triumph  waves. 


Follow  the  Dram. 


Copied  by  permission   of    Root   A  Cabt.   Mnsic    Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Freemen  beware,  lest  in  apathy  sleeping, 
Traitors  may  vanquish  and  anarchy  come  ; 

Even  now  the  foe  in  the  red  field  is  reaping, 
Strike  now  for  Liberty,  follow  the  drum, 
Strike  now  for  Liberty,  follow  the  drum. 

Xever  in  gladness  but  ever  in  sorrow 

Must  the  bright  triumphs  of  great  nations  come  ; 

War  is  but  dross  of  the  peace  of  to-morrow 
Peace  must  be  fought  for,  so  follow  the  drum, 
Peace  must  be  fought  for,  so  follow  the  drum. 

Freemen,  to  arms  !  for  the  bright  day  is  dawning  ; 
Sweet  day  of  liberty,  now  may  it  come ; 
Darkest  the  hour  that  doth  come  before  moniing, 
Strike  for  sweet  Liberty,  follow  the  drum, 
Strike  for  sweet  Liberty,  follow  the  drum. 

Brightly  shall  Liberty  dawn  o'er  our  nation, 
Union  and  Freedom  our  watchword  become; 

All  the  bright  stars  in  one  grand  constellation  ; 
Union  and  Freedom  shall  follow  the  drum, 
Union  and  Liberty  shall  follow  the  drum. 


38 


Jeff,  in  Petticoats. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher*, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Jeff.  Davis  was  a  hero  bold, 

You've  heard  of  him,  I  know, 
He  tried  to  make  himself  a  king 

Where  southern  breezes  blow ; 
But  Uncle  Sam  he  laid  the  youth 

Across  his  mighty  knee, 
And  spanked  him  well,  and  that's  the  end 

Of  brave  old  Jeffy  D. 

Chorus — Oh !  Jeffy  D. !  you  "  flower  of  chivalrce," 
Oh  !  royal  Jeffy  D. ! 
Your  empire's  but  a  tin-clad  skirt, 
Oh  !  charming  Jeffy  D. 

This  Davis  he  was  always  full 

Of  Bluster  and  of  Bragg ; 
He  swore,  on  all  our  northern  walls, 

He'd  plant  his  rebel  rag  ; 
But  when  to  battle  he  did  go, 

He  said,  "  I'm  not  so  green," 
To  dodge  the  bullets,  I  will  wear 


My  tin-clad  crinoline. 


(Chorus.) 


Now  when  he  saw  the  game  was  up, 

He  started  for  the  woods, 
His  band-box  hung  upon  his  arm, 

Quite  full  of  fancy  goods  ; 
Said  Jeff,  "  They'll  never  take  me  now, 

I'm  sure  I'll  not  be  seen ; 
They'd  never  think  to  look  for  me 

Beneath  my  crinoline."  (Chorus.) 


Jeff,  took  with  him,  the  people  say 

A  mine  of  golden  coin  ; 
"Which  he  from  banks  and  other  places, 

Managed  to  purloin ; 
But  while  lie  ran,  like  every  thief, 

He  had  to  drop  the  spoons, 
And  maybe  that's  the  reason  why 

lie  dropped  his  pantaloons  '  (Chorus.) 

Our  Union  boys  were  on  his  track, 

For  many  nights  and  days, 
His  palpitating  heart  is  beat, 

Enough  to  burst  his  stays. 
Oil !  what  a  dash  he  must  have  cut, 

With  form  so  tall  and  lean  ; 
Just  fancy,  now,  the  "  What  is  It," 

Dressed  up  in  crinoline  !  (Chorus.) 

The  ditch  that  Jeff,  was  hunting  for, 

He  found  was  very  near ; 
He  tried  to  "  shift "  his  base  again, 

His  neck  felt  rather  queer. 
Just  on  the  out-"  skirts  "  of  a  wood, 

His  dainty  shape  was  seen, 
His  boots  stuck  out,  and  now  they'll  han£ 

Old  Jeff,  in  crinoline. 

CHORUS. 

Oh  !  Jeffy  D.  !  you  "  flower  of  chivalrec," 

Oh  !  royal  Jeffy  D. ! 
Your  empire's  but  a  tin-clad  skirt, 

Oh,  charming  Jeffy  D. 


40 


My  Pretty  Quadroon. 

Copied  by  permission  of  II.  M.  Higgins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  St.,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  who  was  so  happy  as  I, 

When  those  lips  like  the  blossoming  pea, 

And  the  light  of  that  violet  eye, 

Ne'er  shone  on  a  darkee  but  me ; 

That  form  was  most  'ceedingly  fair, 

Those  cheeks  like  the  wild  rose  of  June  ; 

And  a  wavelet  of  dark  glossy  hair, 

Were  the  curls  of  1113'  pretty  Quadroon. 

Chorus — Oh!  my  pretty  Quadroon, 

My  flower  that  faded  so  soon, 

Dis  heart  like  de  strings  of  my  Banjo, 

Am  broke  for  my  pretty  Quadroon. 

I  knew  not  that  I  was  a  slave, 

So  kind  was  young  Massa  to  me ; 
So  gentle  and  manly  and  brave, 

I  had  not  a  wish  to  be  free; 
Young  Massa  had  garden  and  bower, 

Where  the  posies  were  always  in  bloom ; 
But  he  grudge  me  one  little  wild  flower, 

My  Cola,  my  pretty  Quadroon.  (Cnoiius.) 

And  'cause  I  with  grief  tore  my  ha'r, 

This  hand,  that  was  white  as  his  own, 
He  shackled  and  sold  me  afar, 

To  die  on  the  rice-swamp  alone. 
I  heed  not  the  lash,  or  the  smart, 

Or  the  beams  of  the  hot  summer  noon ; 
There's  nothing  I  feel  but  dis  heart, 

Dat  breaks  for  my  pretty  Quadroon.     (CnoRUS.) 

Farewell  to  the  beautiful  shades, 
Farewell  to  dem  little  cool  rills, 


41 


"Where  Cola  and  I  so  oft  strayed, 

Farewell  to  old  Kentuck's  green  hills. 
My  sorrows  will  soon  be  forgot, 

And  dis  heart  will  find  rest  in  de  tomb  ; 
But  my  spirit  shall  fly  to  dat  spot, 

And  watch  o'er  my  pretty  Quadroon.  (Chorus.) 
One  plunge  in  the  dark  muddy  stream, 

One  struggle  and  all  will  be  o'er ; 
And  life  flit  away  like  a  dream, 

With  the  voice  of  the  driver  no  more. 
Hark  !  hark  !  on  the  cool  Northern  breeze, 

Comes  the  sound  of  the  bugle  and  drum  ; 
Oh  Lord  !  can  it  be  the  glad  day, 

The  day  of  deliverance  come  ?  (Chorus.) 


Paddle  your  own  Canoe, 

Copied  by  permission  of  H.  M.  IIiggins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  St.,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Never  give  up  when  trials  come, 

Never  grow  sad  and  blue, 

Never  sit  down  with  a  tear  and  a  frown, 

But  paddle  your  own  canoe. 

Chorus — Paddle  your  own  canoe, 

Paddle  your  own  canoe, 

Never  sit  down  with  a  tear  and  a  frown, 

But  paddle  your  own  canoe. 

There  are  daisies  springing  along  the  shore, 

Sweet  and  blooming  for  you, 

There  are  rose-hued  dyes  in  the  autumn  skies, 

Then  paddle  your  own  canoe.      (Chorus.) 

Up  this  world  and  down  this  world, 

Over  this  world  and  through, 

When  drifted  about  and  tossed  without, 

Why  paddle  your  own  canoe.      (Chorus.) 


.Richmond  is  Ours ! 

Copied  by  permission   of  Horace  Waters,   Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Richmond  is  ours  !  Richmond  is  ours  ! 

Hark  !  to  the  jubilant  chorus  ! 
Up,  through  the  lips  that  no  longer  repress  it, 
Up,  from  the  heart  of  the  people  !  God  bless  it ! 

Swelling  with  loyal  emotion, 

Leapeth  our  joy,  like  an  ocean ! 
Richmond  is  ours  !  Richmond  is  ours  ! 
Babylon  Mis,  and  her  temples  and  towers 

Crumble  to  ashes  before  us. 


Glory  to  Grant !  Glory  to  Grant ! 

Hark  !  to  the  shout  of  our  nation  ! 
Up,  from  the  Irish  heart,  up  from  the  German, 
Glory  to  Sheridan  !  Glory  to  Sherman  ! 

Up,  from  all  peoples  uniting, 

Freedom's  high  loyalty  plighting, 
Glory  to  all !  Glory  to  all ! 
Heroes  who  combat,  and  martyrs  who  fall ! 

Lift  we  our  joyous  ovation ! 

Fling  out  the  Flag !  Flash  out  the  Flag ! 

Up,  from  each  turret  and  steeple ! 
Up,  from  the  cottage,  and  over  the  mansion, 
Fling  out  the  symbol  of-  Freedom's  expansion ! 

Victory  crowneth  endeavor ! 

Liberty  seals  us  forever ! 
Fling  out  the  Flag  !   Flash  out  the  Flag  ! 
Up  from  each  valley,  and  out  from  each  crag, 

Borne  on  the  breath  of  the  people ! 


43 


Richmond  is  ours!  Richmond  is  ours' 
Hark  !  how  the  welkin  is  riven  ! 

Hark!  to  the  joy  that  our  Nation  convulses! 

Timing  nil  hearts  to  the  cannon's  loud  pulses ; 
Voices  of  heroes  ascending, 
Voices  of  martyred  ones  blending ; 

Richmond  is  onrs !  Richmond  is  ours ! 

Mingling  like  watchwords  on  Liberty's  towers, 
Freedom  rejoiceth  in  Heaven  ! 


"Idaho." 


Copied  by  pcrmi^Pion  of  H.  M.  HiGorNS,  Mnsic  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  St.,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

They  say  there  is  a  land 

Where  crystal  waters  flow, 
O'er  beds  of  quartz  and  purest  gold, 
Way  out  in  Idaho. 
Chorus — Oh  !  wait,  Idaho  ! 

We're  coming,  Idaho, 
Our  four-*  boss  "  team  will  soon  be  seen 
Way  out  in  Idaho. 

We're  bound  to  cross  the  plains, 

And  up  the  mountains  go ; 
We're  bound  to  seek  our  fortune  there, 

Way  out  in  Idaho.  (Chorus.) 

We'll  need  no  pick  or  spade, 

No  shovel,  pan,  or  hoe  ; 
The  largest  chunks  are  top  of  ground, 

Way  out  in  Idaho.  (CnoRUS.) 

We'll  see  hard  times  no  more, 

And  want  we'll  never  know, 
When  once  we've  filled  our  sacks  with  gold, 

Way  out  in  Idaho.  (Chorus.) 


44 


General  Sherman  and  his  Boys  in  Blue, 

Copied    by  permission    of   II.   M.  IIiggins,  Music   Publisher, 
117  Randolph  street,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Hail!  glorious  chief!  the  country's  pride, 

For  victory  follows  thee  ; 
Thy  fame  is  spreading  far  and  wide, 

Great  chieftain  of  the  free  ! 
The  bravest  army  in  the  world 

Is  being  led  by  you, 
And  Freedom's  banner  is  unfurled 

By  bonny  Boys  in  Blue. 

CHORUS. 

General  Sherman,  O  !  General  Sherman,  O  1 
The  Boys  in  Blue  will  fight  with  you, 
General  Sherman,  O  ! 

On  Shiloh's  bloody  battle-field 

He  met  old  Beauregard, 
Who  found  that  Sherman  would  not  yield, 

And  he  took  it  very  hard ; 
He'd  water  his  horse  in  the  Tennessee, 

That's  what  he  said  he'd  do, 
But  Billy  Sherman  got  in  the  way, 

With  his  bonny  Boys  in  Blue.      (Chorus.) 

And  when  the  rebels,  on  Vicksburgs  bights, 

Were  all  corralled  by  Grant, 
Joe  Johnston  thought  he'd  give  us  fits, 

But  Sherman  said,  M  You  can't," 
Joe  Johnston  found  there  were  some  things 

That  he  could  never  do ; 
He  has  to  run  when  Sherman  brings 

His  bonny  Boys  in  Blue.  (Chorus.) 


On  Mission  Ilitlge  he  met  the  foe, 

With  Thomas  and  with  Grant, 
And  on  that  glorious  field,  you  know, 

Our  banners  they  did  plant. 
Old  Bragg  and  all  his  army  fled — 

What  else  could  Braxton  do  ? — 
When  Grant  and  Sherman  nobly  led 

The  bonny  Boys  in  Blue.  (Chorus.) 

Atlanta  next  was  Sherman's  aim, 

Though  Dalton  blocked  the  way ; 
But  flanking  was  the  kind  of  game 

That  Sherman  knew  would  pay. 
Joe  Johnston  found  that  to  retreat 

Was  all  the  way  to  do  ; 
For  it  was  dangerous  to  meet 

The  bonny  Boys  in  Blue.  (Chorus.) 

From  Dalton  down  to  Kennesaw, 

Joe  Johnston  did  retreat ; 
From  there  he  found  he  must  withdraw, 

Or  meet  a  sore  defeat. 
And  when  within  Atlanta's  walls, 

Says  Hood,  "  I'll  show  you,  Joe, 
That  Sherman  soon  before  me  falls, 

And  all  his  Boys  in  Blue."  (Chorus.) 

Says  Hood,  "  I'll  try  the  flanking  game ;" 

But  he  didn't  make  it  pay ; 
For  Thomas  brought  old  Hood  to  shame, 

While  Sherman  went  his  way. 
Down  through  Georgia  Sherman  went, 

Cut  Rebeldom  in  two, 
And  in  Savannah  pitched  his  tent, 

With  all  his  Boys  in  Blue.  (Chorus.) 


48 


We  are  coming  from  the  Cotton  Fields. 

Copied   by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  "Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright 

We  are  coming  from  the  cotton  fields, 

We're  coming  from  afar ; 
We  have  .left  the  plow,  the  hoe  and  ax, 

And  are  going  to  the  war ; 
We  have  left  the  old  plantation  seat, 

The  sugar  and  the  cane, 
Where  we  worked  and  toiled  with  weary  feet, 

In  sun  and  wind  and  rain. 

Chorus — Then  come  along,  my  boys, 

Oh,  come,  come  along, 
Then  come  along  my  brothers, 

Oh,  come,  come  along. 
We  are  coming  from  the  cotton  fields, 

We're  coming  from  afar, 
We  have  left  the  plow,  the  hoe  and  ax, 

And  are  going  to  the  war. 

We  have  digged  our  last  pertater  here 

In  old  Carliner  State, 
And  we'll  leave  these  sandy  diggins  now 

For  the  true  "  Confederate ;" 
We  have  left  the  frogs  within  the  sloughy 

To  sing  alone  and  hop, 
In  the  swamp  lands  and  the  meadows  where 

We  reaped  old  Massa's  crop.         (Chorus.) 

We  will  leave  our  chains  behind  us,  boys, 

The  prison,  and  the  rack  ; 
And  we'll  hide  beneath  a  soldier's  coat, 

The  scars  upon  our  backs ; 


47 


And  we'll  teach  the  world  a  lesson  soon, 

If  taken  by  the  hand, 
How  the  night  shall  come  before  'tis  noon, 

Upon  old  Pharaoh's  land.  (Chorus.) 

By  the  heavy  chains  that  bound  our  hands 

Through  centuries  of  wrong, 
We  have  learned  the  hard-bought  lesson  well 

How  to  sutfer  and  be  strong ; 
And  we  only  ask  the  power  to  show 

What  Freedom  does  for  men  ; 
And  we'll  give  a  sign  to  friend  and  foe, 

As  none  beside  us  can.  (Chorus.) 


y  Lorena." 


Copied   by  permission  of  H.  M.  Higgi*?,  MupIc   Publisher, 
117  Randolph  street,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

The  years  creep  slowly  by,  Lorena, 

The  snow  is  on  the  grass  again, 
The  sun's  low  down  the  sky,  Lorena, 

The  frost  gleams  where  the  flowers  have  been. 
But  the  heart  throbs  on  as  warmly  now, 

As  when  the  summer  days  were  nigh ; 
Oh,  the  sun  can  never  dip  so  low, 

Adown  affection's  cloudless  sky. 

A  hundred  months  have  passed,  Lorena, 

Since  last  I  held  that  hand  in  mine, 
And  felt  that  pulse  beat  fast,  Lorena, 

Though  mine  beat  faster  far  than  thine. 
A  hundred  months — 'twas  flowery  May, 

When  up  the  sunny  slope  we  climbed, 
To  watch  the  dying  of  the  day, 

And  hear  the  distant  church-bells  chimed. 


48 


"We  loved  each  other  then,  Lorena, 

More  than  we  ever  dared  to  tell ; 
And  what  we  might  have  been,  Lorena, 

Had  but  our  lovings  prospered  well — 
But  then  'tis  past — the  years  are  gone, 

Til  not  call  up  their  shadowy  forms ; 
I'll  say  to  them,  "  lost  years,  sleep  on  ! 

Sleep  on !  nor  heed  life's  pelting  storms." 

The  story  of  that  past,  Lorena, 

Alas !  I  care  not  to  repeat, 
The  hopes  that  could  not  last,  Lorena, 

They  lived,  but  only  lived  to  cheat. 
I  would  not  cause  e'en  one  regret, 

To  rankle  in  your  bosom  now ; 
For  "  if  we  try,  we  may  forget," 

Were  words  of  thine  long  years  ago. 

Yes,  these  were  words  of  thine,  Lorena, 

They  burn  within  my  memory  yet ; 
They  touched  some  tender  chords,  Lorena, 

Which  thrill  and  tremble  with  regret. 
'Twas  not  thy  woman's  heart  that  spoke  ; 

Thy  heart  was  always  true  to  me : — 
A  duty,  stern  and  pressing,  broke 

The  tie  which  linked  my  soul  with  thee. 

It  matters  little  now,  Lorena, 

The  past — is  in  the  eternal  Past ; 
Our  heads  will  soon  lie  low,  Lorena, 

Life's  tide  is  ebbing  out  so  fast. 
There  is  a  future  !  Oh  !  thank  God, 

Of  life  this  is  so  small  a  part ! 
'Tis  dust  to  dust  beneath  the  sod ; 

But  there,  up  there,  'tis  heart  to  heart. 


49 


Beautiful  Annie, 

Copied  bv  permission  of  Horace  Waters  Music  Publisher,  4S1 
Broadway,  New  York,  owuer  of  tlie  copyright. 

Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Gone  ere  thy  light  heart  knew  sorrow  and  woe  ; 
Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Oh  !  how  we  miss  thee  no  mortal  may  know ; 
Sweet  is  thy  song,  though  the  world  may  not  hear  it, 
Bright  i3  thy  home,  with  the  angels  to  cheer  it, 
Oh !  for  one  view  of  thy  glorified  spirit, 

Free  from  the  fetters  that  bind  us  below ! 

CHORUS. 

Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Gone  ere  thy  light  heart  knew  sorrow  or  woe, 

Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Oh !  how  we  miss  thee  no  mortal  may  know. 

Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Gone  ere  thy  young  life  a  shadow  might  feel, 
Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Green  is  thy  memory,  in  sorrow  and  weal ; 
Thine  is  the  splendor  of  joy  undeceiving, 
Ours  be  the  love  to  thy  memory  cleaving, 
Ours  be  the  faith  which  is  blest  in  believing, 

All  the  fond  visions  the  angels  reveal.      (Chorus,) 

Beautiful  Annie,  silver-voiced  Annie, 

Gone  from  our  pathway  in  life's  early  May  ; 
Beautiful  Annie,  silver- voiced  Annie, 

Smile  on  our  home,  from  thy  glory-lit  way  ; 
Glide  round  the  hearts  that  so  oft  were  thy  pillow, 
SiDg  in  our  gloom  like  the  bird  in  the  willow, 
Come  to  our  night  like  the  star  to  the  billow, 
Gilding  the  wave  with  a  promise  of  day. 


50 


Paul  Vane. 

Copied  by  permission  of  II.  M.  Higgins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  St.,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

The  years  are  creeping  slowly  by,  clear  Paul, 

The  winters  come  and  go  ; 
The  wind  sweeps  past  with  mournful  cry,  dear  Paul, 

And  pelts  my  face  with  snow. 
But  there's  no  snow  upon  the  heart,  dear  Paul, 

'Tis  summer  always  there  ; 
Those  early  loves  throw  sunshine  over  all, 

And  sweeten  memories  dear. 

I  thought  it  easy  to  forget,  dear  Paul, 

Life  glowed  with  youthful  hope  ; 
The  glorious  future  gleamed  yet,  dear  Paul, 

And  bade  us  clamber  up. 
Tliey  frowning  said,  "  it  must  not — can  not  be  , 

Break  now  the  hopeless  bands  !" 
And,  Paul,  you  know  how  well  that  bitter  day, 

I  bent  to  their  commands. 

I've  kept  you  ever  in  my  heart,  dear  Paul, 

Through  years  of  good  and  ill ; 
Our  souls  could  not  be  torn  apart,  dear  Paul, 

They're  bound  together  still. 
I  never  knew  how  dear  you  were  to  me, 

'Till  I  was  left  alone  , 
I  thought  my  poor,  poor  heart  would  break,  the  day 

They  told  me  you  was  gone. 

Perhaps  we'll  never,  never  meet,  dear  Paul, 

Upon  this  earth  again ; 
But  tliere — where  happy  angels  greet,  dear  Paul, 

You'll  meet  Lorena  there. 


51 


Together  up  the  ever  shining  way, 
"We'll  press  with  hoping  heart — 

Together  through  the  bright  eternal  day, 
And  never  more  to  part. 


Do  you  Think  of  the  Days  that  are  Gone  ? 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  Braikard  &  Co.   Magic  Publishers, 
203  Superior  St.,  Cleveland,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Do  you  think  of  the  days  that  are  gone,  Jennie, 

As  you  sit  by  your  fire  at  night  ? 
Do  you  wish  that  the  morn  would  bring  back  the  time 

When  your  heart  and  your  step  were  so  light  ? 
I  think  of  the  days  that  are  gone,  Robin, 

And  all  I  enjoyed  in  them  then  ; 
But  the  brightest  that  ever  arose  on  me, 

I  have  never  wished  back  again. 

Do  you  think  of  the  hopes  that  are  fled,  Jennie, 

As  you  sit  by  your  fire  at  night  *? 
Do  you  gather  them  up  as  they're  fading  fast, 

Like  buds  with  an  early  blight  ? 
I  think  of  the  hopes  that  are  fled,  Robin, 

I  mourn  their  stay  was  so  fleet ; 
They  fell  as  the  leaves  of  the  red-rose  fall, 

But  even  in  falling  were  sweet. 

Do  you  think  of  the  friends  that  are  gone,  Jennie, 

As  you  sit  b}'  your  fire  at  night  ? 
Do  you  wish  them  around  you  again  once  more, 

By  the  hearth  that  they  made  so  bright  ? 
I  think  of  the  friends  that  are  gone,  Robin, 

They're  dear  to  my  heart  now  as  then  ; 
But  the  best  and  the  deare6t  among  them  all, 

I  have  never  wished  back  again. 


52 


We  are  Marching  on  to  Victory. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,   Music  Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

We  are  marching  on  to  victory, 
Our  drums  are  gayly  beating, 
Brave  Sherman  leads  our  gallant  men, 

The  rebels  are  retreating  ; 
We'll  drive  them  on  through  vale  and  glen, 

And  traitorous  southern  city ; 
They  who  in  mercy  never  spare 
From  us  deserve  no  pity. 
Chorus — Then  on,  brave  boys,  still  onward  march, 
Like  the  ocean's  restless  flood 
We'll  buy  our  Nation's  liberty, 
Or  seal  it  with  our  blood. 

Four  years  we've  fought  the  rebel  hordes, 

Who  would  our  Union  sever, 
And  in  the  next  six  months  to  come 

We'll  blot  them  out  forever. 
We  are  marching  on  to  Victory  now, 

Our  drums  are  loudly  beating  ! 
Brave  Sherman  leads  our  gallant  men, 

The  rebels  are  retreating.  (Chorus.) 

Yic  will  no  longer  sue  for  peace, 

Or  hold  a  hand  with  treason  ; 
The  sword  shall  settle  every  point 

That  will  not  yield  to  reason ! 
We're  under  marching  orders  now, 

'Tis  too  late  for  concession  ; 
For  Sherman's  men  were  bound  to  take 

Each  stronghold  in  succession.     (Ciiorus.) 


53 


Look  at  our  flaming  Banner  high  ! 

The  rebel  faith  is  shaken  ; 
Columbia  and  Charleston  fell, 

And  Richmond  has  been  taken. 
So  right  si  1  ail  triumph  over  wrong, 

The  Lord  will  march  before  us  : 
And  victory  shall  crown  the  flag 

Of  Freedom  floating  o'er  us  !        (Chorus.) 


Moonlight  and  Starlight, 

Copied  by  permission   of  Horace  Watxfs,  Music  Publisher 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Far  over  ocean  o'er  moorland  and  lea, 

Moonlight  and  starlight  are  gleaming  ; 
Wake  from  thy  slumber  and  wander  with  me, 

Down  where  the  roses  are  dreaming. 
Come  to  the  hills  ;  sing  with  the  rills  ; 

Roam  where  the  river  is  shining  ; 
Oh  !  may  our  hopes  like  the  stars  o'er  the  sea, 
Live  when  our  day  is  declining. 
Ciiokus — Moonlight  and  starlight,  silently  beaming, 
Gilding  the  mountain,  silvering  the  wave, 
Moonlight  and  starlight,  tenderly  streaming, 
Over  the  beautiful,  over  the  brave. 

Daylight  has  flown  to  the  caves  of  the  deep, 

Mars  o'er  the  mountain  is  burning  ; 
Rise  ere  the  wild  birds  awake  from  iheir  sleep 

Come  ere  the  dawn  is  returning. 
Sing  me  the  lays,  breathing  of  days 

Radiant  of  memories  olden ; 
Sweet  as  the  flowers  where  the  night  shadows  weep, 

Pure  as  the  moonbeams  golden.        (Chokus.) 


|  54 

The  Negro  Emancipation  Song. 

Copied  by  permission  of  II.  M.  IIiGGrNs,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  St.,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Gather  ream',  ye  darkies  all, 

Listen  to  nry  singin', 
Draw  de  bow,  aud  play  de  bones, 

Set  de  banjo  ringin'. 
Dis  3'ere  darkey  hear  dem  say, 

In  de  house  dis  morniu', 
Dat  de  Yankee  soger  boys 

An'  Uncle  Sam  was  comin' ! 

Chorus — Shout,  ho  !  darkies  all, 

Keep  the  banjo  tumin, 
Hallelujah  to  a  day, 

De  'mancipation  comin' 

Mapsa  say  de  Lienkum  folks 

Make  de  confiscation, 
(Dat  was  what  it  am,  I  t'ink,) 

Den  he  cuss  de  nation ; 
Didn't  hear  quite  all  he  said, 

While  his  tongue  was  runnin', 
But  I  'spect  it  mean  de  day 

O'  'mancipation  comin' !       (Chorus., 

Den  de  oberseer  he  say, 

If  de  fleet  kept  blocking 
Dat  a  hundred  nigger  boys 

Wouldn't  be  wuff  nuffin' ; 
'Cause  de  cotton  and  de  cane 

Wouldn't  pay  for  raisin', 
Jes'  to  pick  an'  pile  it  up, 

An'  to  set  it  blazin' !  (Chorus.) 


Tell  it  to  tie    darkies  roun' ! 

Let  den*  know  de  story, 
Den  dcy'll  clap  dey'i  ban's  an'  sing 

Hallelujah  !   Glory  ! 
When  de  Lienkum  sogers  come, 

(An'  de  Lord  he  lead  um) 
Den  de  darkies  life  dey'r  han's 

In  de  light  ob  freedom  !        (Chorus.) 
Golly!  guess  dis  darkey  dance 

When  he  hear  dem  talkin'  I 
Den  he  run  to  let  }rou  know — 

(Couldn't  wait  for  walkin.) 
Ev'ry  darkey  bress  de  Lord, 

Roun'  de  whole  plantation, 
Join  de  chorus  while  we  siug 

De  song  o'  'mancipation!      (Cnonus.) 


I  Built  a  Bridge  of  Fancies. 

I  built  a  bridge  of  fancies, 

It  reached  from  earth  to  heaven, 
Yet  scarcely  ere  completed, 

Its  slender  chains  were  riven. 
So  many  shadows  crossed  it, 

In  colors  decked  so  bright, 
No  wonder  that  they  broke  it, 

Although  their  weight  was  light. 
Yet  stay,  I  now  remember, 

'Twas  a  blinding  storm  of  rain 
Fell  from  my  eyelids  heavy, 

Raising  a  mist  of  pain. 
When  next  I  gazed  with  longing, 

In  one  short  summer's  day, 
All  I  had  loved  had  vanished — 

My  bridge  was  swept  away. 


56 


We's  a  Gwine  to  Fight. 

Copied   by  permission   of  II.  M.  Higgins,  Music   Publisher, 
117  Randolph  street,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright 

When  rotten  shot  begins  to  fall, 

And  massa  am  knocked  down, 
I  knows  the  Lord  am  comin'  for 

To  do  de  t'ing  up  brown. 
Oh  darkeys,  hain't  you  heard  it  ? 

De  t'ing's  a  comin'  right, 
Ole  massa  Abe  hab  spoken  it, 
And  we's  a  gwine  to  fight. 
Chorus — Oh  darkeys,  hain't  you  heard  it  ? 
De  t'ing's  a  comin  right, 
Ole  massa  Abe  hab  spoken  it, 
And  we's  a  gwine  to  fight. 

Now  when  we  comes  togedder  den, 

Dat  makes  ole  massa  quake, 
And  when  we  tramples  on  de  earth, 

Lord,  how  we  make  t'ings  shake. 
Oh  darkeys,  Hain't  you  heard  it  ? 

De  t'ing's  a  comin'  right, 
Ole  massa  Abe  hab  spoken  it, 

And  we's  a  gwine  to  fight.      (Chorus.) 

Pe  massa  say  we  fight  for  dem, 

Shan't  do  no  such  a  t'ing, 
De  Yankees  come  and  take  us  'way, 

Now  darkeys  let  us  sing ; 
Oh  darkeys,  hain't  you  heard  it  ? 

De  t'ing's  a  comin'  right, 
j)le  massa  Abe  hab  spoken  it, 

And  we's  a  gwine  to  fight.       (Chorus.) 


i 


57 


When  darkeys  do  desemble  dar, 

Den  dey  shakes  in  dar  boot, 
Ole  massa  'gins  to  tremble  now, 

When  we's  a  gwine  to  shoot. 
Oh  darkeys,  hain't  you  heard  it  ? 

De  t'ing's  a  comin'  right, 
Ole  massa  Abe  hab  spoken  it, 

And  we's  a  gwine  to  fight.        (Cnonus.) 


My  Little  Angel! 


Copied  by  permisaiou  of  Hora.cb  Waters,  Music   Publisher, 
4S1  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  cop}Tight. 

Right  into  our  house  one  day, 

A  dear  little  angel  came, 
I  ran  to  him  and  softly  said, 

Little  angel,  what  i3  your  name  ? 

He  said  not  a  word  in  answer, 

But  smiled  a  beautiful  smile ; 
Then  I  said,  may  I  go  home  with  you, 

Shall  you  go  in  a  little  while  ? 

But  mamma  said,  dear  little  angel, 
Don't  leave  us,  but  always  stay, 

We'll  all  of  us  love  you  dearly — 
Little  angel  don't  go  away. 

So  he  stayed,  and  we  loved  him, 

As  we  could  not  have  loved  another ; 

Would  you  like  to  know  what  his  name  is  ? 
llis  name  is  my  little  brother. 


58 


Zula  Zong. 


Copied  by  permission  of  H.  M.  Higgins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  street,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

I  have  loved  thee,  Zula  Zong, 

For  thy  life  was  all  a  song ; 

It  was  all  a  cheerful  smile, 

It  was  sunshine  all  the  while  ; 

It  was  all  a  dream  of  love, 

Brought  by  angels  from  above ; 

It  was  like  some  fairy  tale, 

Told  within  a  silvan  vale. 

Chorus — Oh  !  Zula,  mold'ring  Zula, 

Silent  is  thy  silver  song ; 
Oh  !  Zula,  darling  Zula, 

Dear  departed  Zula  Zong 

I  have  missed  thee,  Zula  Zong, 

And  the  days  are  sad  and  long, 

"When  the  winter  sifts  its  snow, 

When  the  vernal  blossoms  blow, 

When  the  sheaves  of  wheat  are  bright, 

And  when  swallows  take  their  flight — 

Night  and  morning,  all  the  while, 

Zula  Zong,  I  miss  thy  smile.         (Chorus.) 

Sleepeth  now  my  Zula  Zong, 

Ended  is  her  silver  song, 

Empty  is  the  desert  well, 

Broken  is  the  mystic  spell ; 

There's  no  sunshine  on  the  main, 

There's  no  shadow  on  the  plain, 

There's  no  footfall  at  the  door, 

As  there  was  in  days  of  yore.       (Chorus.) 


51) 


As  a  rose  born  out  of  lime, 
As  a  bell  struck  from  a  chime, 
As  the  key-note  of  a  song, 
Was  my  gentle  Zula  Zong. 
As  the  water  to  the  sea, 
So  was  Zula  Zong  to  me, 
As  the  blue  to  yonder  sky, 
Thus  to  Zula  Zong  was  I. 
I  shall  meet  thee,  Zula  Zong, 
I  shall  hear,  again,  thy  song, 
Where  the  old  is  ever  new, 
Where  the  skies  are  ever  blue. 
I  shall  greet  thy  golden  smiles, 
In  the  sunset  amber  isles, 
In  the  land  of  light  and  song 
E'en  in  heaven,  Zula  Zong. 


(Chorus.) 


(Chorus.) 


The  Dream  of  Home. 

"Who  has  not  felt  how  sadly  sweet 

The  dream  of  home,  the  dream  of  home, 
Steals  o'er  the  heart,  too  soon  to  fleet, 

When  far  o'er  seas  or  land  we  roam  ? 
Sunlight  more  soft  may  o'er  us  fall, 

To  greener  shores  our  bark  may  come, 
But  still  more  bright,  more  dear  than  all, 

That  dream  of  home,  that  dream  of  home 
Ask  of  the  sailor  youth,  when  far 

His  light  bark  bounds  o'er  ocean's  foam, 
What  charms  him  most  when  evening's  star 

Smiles  o'er  the  wave  ? — to  dream  of  home 
Fond  thoughts  of  absent  friends  and  loves 

At  that  sweet  hour  around  him  come  ; 
His  heart's  best  joy,  where'er  he  roves, 

That  dream  of  home,  that  dream  of  home. 


60 


My  Mother's  Clot. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  W  aahington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  warbling  birds  and  sparkling  rills, 

Sing  cheerily  near  the  spot, 
While  distant  shades  from  verdant  hills, 

Fall  on  my  mother's  cot. 
Its  windows  small,  the  roof  is  low, 

And  walls  are  dingy  gray, 
I  see  it  still  where'er  I  go, 
That  cottage  far  away. 
Chorus — The  warbling  birds  sing  cheerily 
At  sunrise  in  the  morn, 
They  spread  bright  gladness  all  around 
The  home  where  I  was  born. 

That  little  clock  upon  the  wall, 

Records  the  passing  hours, 
While  o'er  the  porch  the  woodbine  tall, 

It  blooms  with  fragrant  flowers. 
That  old  arm-chair,  so  soft  and  low, 

Where  mother  sits  all  day, 
I  see  it  still  where'er  I  go, 

That  cottage  far  away.  (Chorus.) 

My  mother  dear,  I  see  thee  now, 

Reclining  in  that  chair, 
With  sun's  last  rays  upon  your  brow, 

That  once  was  smooth  and  fair. 
Your  crimped  cap  as  white  as  snow, 

And  hair  once  tlark,  now  gray, 
I  see  it  still  where'er  I  go, 

That  cottage  far  away.  (Chorus.) 


61 


Famous  Oil  Firms. 

Copied   by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music    Publisher* 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

There's  "  Ketchum  ft  Cheatum,' 
And  "  Lure'em  &  Beatum," 

And  "  Swindle  urn,"  all  in  a  row  ; 
Then  "  Coax  'em  &  Lead  'em," 
And  "  Leech  'em  &  Bleed  'em," 
And  "  Guzzle  'em,  Sink  'em  &  Co." 
Chorus — Oh  !  oh  !  Oily  firms  pay, 
In  Pennsylvania.     Jest  so. 

There's  "  Gull  'em  &  Skinner," 
And  "  Gammon  &  Sinner," 

"  R  Askal  &  Oily  &  Son," 
With  "  Sponge  urn  &  Fleece  urn," 
And  "  Strip  'em  &  Grease  'em," 

And  "  Take  'em  in  Brothers  &  Run." 

There's  "  Watch  'em  &  Nab  'em," 
And  "  Knock  'em  &  Grab  'cm," 

And  "  Lather  &  Shave  'em  well,"  too  ; 
There's  Force  'em  &  Tie  'em," 
And  "  Pump  'em  &  Dry  'em," 

And  "  Wheedle  &  Soap  'em  in  view." 

There's  M  Pare  'em  &  Core  'em," 
And  "  Grind  'em  &  Bore  'em," 

And  u  Pinchum  good,  Scrape  um  &  Friend," 
With  "  Done  um  &  Bro\yn  um," 
And  "  Finish  &  Drown  um," 

And  thus  I  might  go  to  the  end. 
Chorus — Oh  !  oh  !  Oily  firms  pay, 
In  Pennsylvania.      Jest  so. 


62 


The  Soldier's  Welcome  Home. 

Oopied   by  permission   of  H.  M.  Higgins,  Music   Publisher, 
117  Randolph  street,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

From  the  camp  and  field  returning, 
With  a  bounding  step  they  come, 
"Where  the  lights  within  are  burning, 
Welcome,  soldier,  welcome  home. 
Loving  hearts  for  thee  are  beating, 

Late  oppressed  with  anxious  fear, 
Gentle  eyes  will  give  thee  greeting, 
Watching  still  through  all  their  tears. 
Chorus — Welcome,  welcome,  soldier,  welcome 
To  a  heart  so  glad  as  mine, 
Welcome,  welcome,  soldier,  welcome, 
To  a  heart  so  truly  thine. 

When  the  battle-cry  was  sounded, 

Busy  hands  their  tribute  brought, 
And  to  every  patriot  wounded, 

Went  forth  many  a  tender  thought. 
And  through  days  of  absence  dreary, 

Kindly  thoughts  to  all  were  given, 
While  from  spirits  sad  and  weary, 

Earnest  prayers  went  up  to  heaven.  (Cho.) 

But  not  all  may  share  our  greeting, 

Ah,  how  many  do  not  come ; 
With  the  blest  they  are  meeting,         * 

Angels  give  them  welcome  home. 
We  shall  miss  them,  but  not  ever, 

Life's  short  warfare  soon  is  o'er, 
We  shall  meet  "  beyond  the  river,"  % 

Meet  upon  "  the  shining  shore."    (Chorus.) 


63 

One  by  One  They  Crossed  the  River. 

Copied  by  permission  of  II.  M.  IIiogins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  street,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

One  by  one  they  crossed  the  river, 
Members  of  our  household  band, 

And  we  saw  the  frail  bark  waiting, 
Moored  upon  the  golden  sand. 

First  our  Willie — blue-eyed  baby- 
All  at  once  forgot  to  play, 

And  an  angel  came  and  bore  him 
O'er  the  river,  far  away. 

One  by  one  the  bark  they  entered, 

Loved  ones  from  our  own  fireside ; 
And  I  watched  them,  o'er  the  river, 

In  the  light  boat  swiftly  glide. 
Willie  first,  then  Maggie  darling, 

With  her  curls  of  golden  hair 
Unimprisoned  on  her  bosom, 

Floating  o'er  her  shoulders  bare. 

One  by  one  the  bark  they  entered 

And  I  saw  it  borne  away, 
O'er  the  waves  upon  the  river, 

Lost  amid  the  clashing  spray. 
Next  my  stately,  dark-eyed  brother, 

As  his  breath  came  soft  and  low, 
Smiled,  and  said,  u  The  boat  Is  waiting, 

All  unmoored,  and  I  must  go." 

One  by  one — and  still  the  boatman 
Moored  his  shallop  to  the  shore, 

And  we  held  our  breath,  expecting 
Soon  to  hear  him  at  the  door. 


64_ 

Bister  Cora  heard  him  knocking — 
Paled  her  cheek  to  driven  snow, 

And  the  death-dews  bathed  her  forehead- 
She,  too,  whispered,  "  I  must  go." 

One  by  one  they  crossed  the  river, 

Four  from  out  our  household  band, 
When,  one  morn,  I  saw  the  shallop, 

Manned  by  angels,  reach  the  sand. 
Here  were  Willie,  Maggie  darling, 

And  my  dark-eyed  brother,  too, 
And  my  sister  Cora  whispered, 

"  We  have  come  to  visit  you." 

One  by  one  they  crossed  the  river, 

In  the  shallop  light  and  frail, 
But  they  all  returned  together 

In  a  bark  with  snowy  sail. 
Cora  spoke  of  lovely  flowers, 

Brother  of  the  farther  shore, 
Willie  dear  and  darling  Maggie 

Kissed  my  forehead  o'er  and  o'er 


THE   END. 


BEADLE'S* 


Song  Book 

:sro.  17. 

A    COLLECTION    OF    NEW    AND    POPULAR 

COMIC  AND  SENTIMENTAL 

SONGS. 


BEADLE    ANT)    COMPANY, 
NEW    YORK:    118    WILLIAM    STREET. 

GENERAL   DIME   BOOK   PUBLISHERS. 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE. 

The  music,  with  pianoforte  arrangement,  of  any  of  the 
songs  in  Beadle's  Dime  Song  Books,  can  be  obtained  of,  or 
ordered  through,  any  regular  News  or  Periodical  dealer;  or 
may  be  procured  direct  of  the  publishers,  whose  names 
and  address  are  attached  to  many  of  the  pieces. 

Beadle  and  Company. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866, 

By  BEADLE  AND   COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  Statea 

for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


CONTENTS  No.  17. 


PAGE. 

A  cushla  gal  mochrce,                                              -  61 

All  is  well'  at  home, 41 

All  yesterday  I  was  spinning,         -        -        -        -  21 

Away  on  the  prairie  alone,  11 

Coming  home  from  the  old  camp-ground,      -        -  10 

Constantinople, 58 

Cushla  agus  machree, 43 

Ellie  Rhee, 31 

Farewell  song  of  Enoch  Arden,     -        -        -        -26 

Father's  come  home,  -        -        -              '  -        -  54 

Good-by,  old  glory, 9 

He's  got  his  discharge  from  the  army,        -        -  36 

It  is  the  miller's  daughter, 35 

I  wonder  why  he  comes  not,  34 

Jimmy's  wooing, 63 

Jessie  Lee, 30 

Just  as  of  old, 51 

Little  Tad, 53 

Lost  star  of  my  home, 29 

Marching  through  Georgia,  57 

Move  my  arm-chair,  dearest  mother,      -                 -  37 

My  beau  that  went  to  Canada,  44 

My  mother  did  so  before  me,          -        -        -        -  46 

Nancy's  waterfall, 56 

Nicodemus  Johnson, 6 

Now  den  !  now  den! 20 

Now  Moses, 27 

Old  don't  care,    -                 14 

One  by  one, 55 

On  I  oil  !  on  ! 8 

Our  grandfathers'  days, 52 

Polly  Perkins,  of  Paddington  Green,  -        -         -  30 

Poor  Kitty  Popcorn, 18 

King  the  bell,  watchman,     -----  16 


IV 


CONTESTS. 


Santa  Claus, 

She  sleeps  beneath  the  elms, 
Sing,  birdie,  sing,    - 
Sing  me  to  sleep,  father,      - 
Somebody's  darling, 

Tapioca, 

The  cot  where  the  old  folks  died,   - 
The  first  kiss  at  the  garden  gate, 
The  fields  of  home,         ... 
The  green  Shenandoah,       - 
The  liberty  bird,      - 
The  mid  nig]  it  bugle,    - 
The  nighlinr ale's  trill,    - 
Tlie  school  of  jolly  dogs,     - 
The  ship  that  never  returned, 
The  'telligent  contraband,  - 
The  unknown  heroes,     - 
They  all  come  home  but  mine,  - 
They  have  broken  up  their  camps, 

'Tisfinished, 

Tobias  and  Biancos,        - 
Violets  under  the  snow, 
Waiting  at  the  old  linden  tree, 
We  are  coming  home1  to-morrow, 
We've  drunk  from  the  same  canteen, 
When  Fenians  fight  for  freedom, 


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BEADLE'S 

DIME  SONG  BOOK  No.  17. 


We've  Drank  from  the  same  Canteen. 

Copied  by  permission  of  W.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
647  Broadway,  K.  Y.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

There  are  bonds  of  all  sorts  in  this  world  of  ours, 
Fetters  of  friendship,  and  ties  of  flowers, 

And  true  lovers'  knots  I  ween ; 
The  boy  and  the  girl  are  bound  by  a  kiss, 
But  there's  never  a  bond,  old  friend,  like  this, 

We  have  drunk  from  the  same  canteen, 

CHORUS. 

The  same  canteen,  my  soldier  friend,  the  same  canteen, 
There's  never  a  bond,  old  friend,  like  this, 
We  have  drank  from  the  same  canteen. 

It  was  sometimes  water  and  sometimes  milk 
Sometimes  apple-jack  fine  as  silk, 

But  whatever  the  tipple  has  been, 
We  shared  it  together  in  bane  or  bliss, 
And  I  warm  to  you,  friend,  when  I  think  of  this, 

We  have  drunk  from  the  same  canteen.    (Chorus.) 

The  rich  and  great  sit  down  to  dine, 

And  quaff  to  each  other  in  sparkling  wine, 

From  glasses  of  crystal  and  green  ; 
But  I  guess  in  their  golden  potations  they  mits 
The  warmth  of  regard  to  be  found  in  this, 

We  have  drunk  from  the  same  canteen.    (Chorus.) 


We've  shared  our  blankets  and  tent  together, 
And  marched  and  fought  in  all  kinds  of  weather, 

And  hungry  and  full  we've  been, 
Had  days  of  battle  and  days  of  rest, 
But  this  memory  I  cling  to  and  love  the  best — 

We  have  drunk  from  the  same  canteen.    (Chokus.) 

For  when  wounded  I  Lay  on  the  outer  slope, 
With  my  blood  flowing  fast,  and  but  little  hope, 

On  which  my  faint  spirit  might  lean, 
Oh !  then,  I  remember,  you  crawled  to  my  side, 
And,  bleeding  so  fast,  it  seemed  both  must  have  died, 

We  drunk  from  the  same  canteen.  (Chokus.) 


Mcodemus  Johnson. 

Copied  bv  pcj-iuissioi.  /»f  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  \\  asnington  bv     Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I've  just  arrived  in  town  to-day, 

And  here  I  is  before  you, 
To  sing  about  my  name  and  occupation  ; 

I  come  from  old  Virginia  State, 
De  best  in  all  de  nation. 

Oh,  ho  !  oh,  ho  !  to  j^icodemus  Johnson. 
My  master  was  a  Union  man, 

He  did  not  like  secession, 
And  so  he  had  to  leave  de  old  plantation ; 

I  thought  to  stay  behind  him  there, 
'Twould  be  an  aggravation. 

Oh,  ho  !  oh,  ho !  to  Nicodemus  Johnson. 
Fs  glad  dis  war  come  to  an  end, 

And  peace  come  frew  de  nation, 
I'll  go  right  back  to  Dixie's  land,  and  stay  dai4 

For  I  isn't  any  contraband, 
I  love  de  old  plantation. 

Oh,  ho  !  oh,  ho  !  that's  Nieodemus  Johnson. 


The  Ship  that  Never  Keturned. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers,  95 
Chirk  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

On  a  summers  day,  -when  llic  wave  was  rippled 

By  the  softest,  gentlest  breeze, 
Did  a  ship  set  sail,  with  a  cargo  laden 

For  a  port  beyond  the  seas ; 
There  were  sweet  farewells,  there  were  loving  signals, 

While  a  form  was  yet  discerned  ; 
Though  they  knew  it  not,  'twas  a  solemn  parting, 

For  the  ship  she  never  returned. 

CHORUS. 

Did  she  never  return  ?     She  never  returned — 

Her  fate  it  is  yet  unlearned ;     - 
Though  for  years  and  years  there  were  fond  ones 
watching. 

Yet  the  ship  she  never  returned. 

Said  a  feeble  lad  to  his  anxious  mother, 

"  I  must  cross  the  wide,  wide  sea; 
For  they  say,  perchance  in  a  foreign  climate 

There  is  health  and  strength  for  me." 
'Twas  a  gleam  of  hope  in  a  maze  of  danger, 

And  her  heart  for  her  youngest  yearned  ; 
Yet  she  sent  him  forth  with  a  smile  and  blessing 

On  the  ship  that  never  returned.  (Chorus.) 

"  Only  one  more  trip,'1  said  a  gallant  seaman, 

As  he  kissed  his  weeping  wife  ; 
"  Only  one  more  bag  of  the  golden  treasure, 

And  'twill  last  us  all  through  life. 
Then  I'll  spend  my  days  in  my  cozy  cottage, 

And  enjoy  the  rest  I've  earned  ;" 
But  alas,  poor  man  !  he  sailed  commander 

Of  the  ship  that  never  returned.  (Chorus.) 


On!    On!   On! 


[A  Sequel  to  "Tramp,  Tramp.  Tramp."] 

Copied   by  permission  of   Root   &  Cady,  Music  Publishers, 

95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh!  the  day  it  came  at  last 

When  the  glorious  tramp  was  heard, 
And  the  boys  came  marching  fifty  thousand  strong, 
And  we  grasped  each  other's  hands, 
Though  we  uttered  not  a  word, 
As  the  booming  of  our  cannon  rolled  along. 
On,  on,  on,  the  boys  came  marching, 
Like  a  grand  majestic  sea  ; 
And  they  dashed  away  the  guard  from  the  heavy  iron 
door, 
And  we  stood  beneath  the  starry  banner  free. 

CHORUS. 

On,  on,  on,  the  boys  came  marching, 
Like  a  grand  majestic  sea; 
And  they  dashed  away  the  guard  from  the  heavy  iron 
door, 
And  we  stood  beneath  the  starry  banner  free. 
Oh  !  the  feeblest  heart  grew  strong, 
And  the  most  despondent  sure, 
When  we  heard  the  thrilling  sounds  we  loved  so  well, 
For  we  knew  that  want  and  woe 
We  no  longer  should  endure, 
When  the  hosts  of  freedom  reached  our  prison  cell. 
Oh  !  the  war  is  over  now, 

And  we're  safe  at  home  again, 
And  the  cause  we've  fought  and  suffered  for  is  won, 
But  we  never  can  forget, 

'Mid  our  woes  and  'mid  our  pain, 
How  the  glorious  Union  boys  came  tramping  on. 
Chorus — Yes,  yes,  yes,  the  boys  came  marching,  etc. 


Good-by  Old  Glory. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers,  67 
Washington  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Four  weary  years  of  toil  and  blood, 

With  loyal  hearts  and  true, 
By  field  and  fortress,  plain  and  flood, 

We've  fought  the  rebel  crew ; 
But  victory  is  ours  at  last, 

The  mighty  work  is  through, 
Sound  drums  and  bugles  loud  and  fast, 

This  is  your  last  tattoo. 

CHORUS. 

Farewell,  farewell,  to  march  and  fight, 

Hard-tack,  a  fond  adieu ; 
Good-by,  "  Old  Glory,"  for  to-night 

We  doff  the  army  blue. 

Oh !  comrades  that  may  ne'er  return, 

Who  sleep  beneath  the  dew, 
Where  Yieksburg's  gleaming  signals  burn, 

Or  Lookout's  crest  of  blue  ; 
Where'er  your  blood  lias  sealed  the  faith, 

We  brought  in  triumph  through, 
Good-night  to  glory  and  to  death, 

And  that's  good-morn  to  you.  (Chorus.) 

Farewell  to  pens  and  prison-holes, 

Where  fiends  themselves  broke  through, 
And  tortured  noble  captive  souls 

That  they  could  not  subdue ; 
But  in  the  fullness  of  the  day, 

Heaven's  justice  did  we  do, 
Disaster,  famine,  ruin  may 

Make  fearful  answer  true.  (Chorus.) 


10 

Good-by  to  muster  and  parade, 

Good-by  the  grand  review, 
The  dusty  line,  the  dashing  aid, 

Good-by  our  General,  too. 
Good-by  to  war,  but  halt !  I  say, 

John  Bull,  a  word  with  you, 
Pay  up  old  scores,  or  we  again 

May  dou  the  army  blue. 


(Chorus.) 


Coming  Hoino  from  the  Old  Camp  Ground, 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  Brainard  &  Son,  Music  Publishers, 
203  Superior  St..  Cleveland,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

We- are  breaking  up  camp,  and  marching  away, 

The  war  is  over  at  last ; 

We  are  all  going  home  to  rejoice  with  our  friends, 

And  talk  o'er  the  scenes  that  have  passed. 

CHORUS. 

We  are  coming  home  again  from  the  old  camp-ground, 

And  the  scenes  of  Avar  and  strife ; 
We  are  coming  home  again  to  the  friend^  we  love, 

And  the  joys  of  a  peaceful  life. 

We  have  long  been  parted  from  our  dear,  kind  friends, 

And  the  joys  of  a  peaceful  home  ; 
We  have  long  been  camping  in  the  stranger's  land, 

And  wishing  for  the  end  to  come.  (Chorus.) 

Our  old  flag's  coming,  our  brave  old  flag — 

On  many  a  battle-field, 
It  was  torn  and  tattered  by  the  shot  and  shell, 

But  never  would  the  old  flag  yield.  (Chorus.) 

We  are  coming  home  again,  but  we're  not  all  coming 

For  many  have  passed  away  ; 
We  have  laid  them  to  rest  near  the  old  camp-ground, 

And  they  quietly  sleep  there  to-day. 


11 


Away  on  the  Prairie  Alone. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers,  67 
Washington  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

So  handsome,  so  young,  and  so  hearty, 

With  never  a  wife  of  his  own — 
I  was  thinking  of  Neddy  McCarty, 

Away  on  the  prairie  alone, 
When  who  should  come  in  but  Jim  Daly, 

And  sit  himself  down  by  my  side, 
All  dressed  like  a  dandy  so  gayly, 

And  sure  it's  himself  has  the  pride. 

His  house  was  just  finished  and  painted 

So  white,  with  the  window-blinds  green 
A  lady  was  just  what  he  wanted, 

He  said,  to  preside  o'er  the  scene. 
With  carpets  his  floors  he  would  cover, 

With  pictures  his  Avails  should  be  hung, 
Oh  !  he  was  the  broth  of  a  lover, 

With  honey,  you'd  say,  on  his  tongue* 

He  told  me  to  get  myself  ready, 

And,  sure  as  the  sun  had  gone  down 
He'd  make  me  as  wealthy  a  lady 

As  any  that  rode  through  that  town. 
You'd  wonder,  now,  what  was  the  matter, 

His  face  was  as  long  as  a  mile, 
When  I  said  if  I  couldn't  do  better, 

I'd  marry  him  after  a  while. 

So  handsome,  so  young,  and  so  hearty, 
With  never  a  wife  of  his  own — 

I  was  thinking  of  Neddy  McCarty, 
Away  on  the  prairie  alone. 


12 

The  'Telligent  Contraband. 

Copied  bypermiseion  of  Oltter  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  white  folks,  your  attention, 

I's  gwine  to  sing  a  song, 

And  if  you  wfll  be  quiet, 

I'll  not  detain  you  long  ; 

And  if  you  don't  believe  me, 

I'll  give  you  dis  right  hand, 

'Kase  I  is  what  de  white  folks  call 

A  'telligent  contraband. 

Chorus — Rip,  rap,  flip,  flap, 

Tumble  up  and  break  your  back, 

Roo  ma  do,  filly  ma  link, 

Glory  hallelujarum, 

Hoop  de  doo  den  doo, 

Don't  yer  see  der  happy  time  has  come, 

When  dat  glorious  proclamation  has  set  de  darkies  free. 

I  is  de  happiest  darkie 

Dat  ever  you  did  see, 

I've  been  so  ever  since  I  heard 

Dat  I  was  to  be  free  ; 

I  was  born  'way  down  in  Dixie's  land, 

Dey  use  to  call  me  Sam, 

Hi,  golly !  now  <le  white  folks  say 

I'm  a  'telligent  contraband.  (Chorus.) 

My  brudder  Gim's  in  Cuba, 

So  de  people  say, 

And  I  am  bound  to  see  him, 

So  I  must  haste  away ; 

And  if  I  meet  my  brudder, 

I'll  take  him  by  de  hand, 

And  tell  him  dat  de  white  folks  say 

I'm  a  'telligent  contraband.  (Chorus.) 


13 


'Tis  Finished. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers,  95 
Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Tis  finished  !  'tis  ended  ! 

The  dread  and  awful  task  13  done ; 
Though  wounded  and  bleeding, 

'Tis  ours  to  sing  the  victory  won ; 
Our  nation  is  ransomed — 

Our  enemies  are  overthrown, 
And  now — now  commences 
The  brightest  era  ever  known. 
Chorus — Then  sing  hallelujah  !  sing  hallelujah  I 
Glory  be  to  God  on  high  ! 
For  the  old  flag  with  the  white  flag 
Is  hanging  on  the  azure  sky. 

Ye  joy-bells  !  ye  peace-bells ! 

Oh,  never,  never  music  rung, 
So  sweetly,  so  grandly, 

Since  angels  in  the  advent  sung. 
Your  message  is  gladness 

To  myriads  of  waiting  souls, 
As  onward  and  worldward, 

The  happy,  happy  echo  rolls.  (Chorus.) 

Come,  patriots  !  come,  freemen  ! 

Come,  join  your  every  heart  and  voice ; 
We've  wept  with  the  weeping — 

Now  let  us  with  the  blest  rejoice ; 
With  armies  of  victors, 

"Who  round  about  the  white  throne  stand, 
With  Lincoln,  the  martyr, 

And  liberator  of  the  land.  (Chorus.) 


14 


Old  Don't  Care. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547* Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Old  Don't  Care  is  a  murderer  foul, 

And  a  murderer  foul  is  he, 
He  beareth  a  halter  in  his  hand, 

And  his  staff  is  the  gallows  tree ; 
And  slyly  he  follows  his  victim  on, 

Through  high  degree  and  low, 
And  strangles  him  there  when  least  aware, 

And  striketh  the  fatal  blow. 
Hanging  his  victims  high  in  the  air, 

A  villain  strong  is  old  Don't  Care.   (Repeat.) 

He  looks  on  the  babe  at  its  mother's  breast, 

And  blighteth  that  blossom  fair, 
For  its  young  buds  wither  and  fade  and  die 

'Neath  the  gaze  of  old  Don't  Care ; 
And  in  place  of  these  there  springeth  up 

Full  many  a  poisonous  weed, 
And  their  tendrils  coil  round  the  victim's  heart, 

A  lank  and  loathsome  breed, 
Blighting  the  spirit  young  and  fair, 

A  villain  strong  is  old  Don't  Care.   (Repeat.) 

He  meeteth  bold  manhood  on  his  way 

And  wrestleth  with  him  there, 
And  he  falls  a  sure  and  easy  prey 

To  the  strength  of  old  Don't  Care ; 
Then  he  plants  his  foot  on  his  victim's  breast, 

And  shouteth  with  demon  joy, 
And  treadeth  the  life  from  his  panting  heart, 

And  exulteth  to  destroy  ; 
Crushing  bold  manhood  everywhere, 

A  villain  strong  is  old  Don't  Care.   (Repeat.) 


15 


Tapi 


3ioca. 

"When  I  used  to  work  upon  the  levee, 

Many  happy  darkies  there  you  see : 
Cotton  coming  In  so  very  heavy, 

Oh,  jolly,  there  was  lots  of  work  for  me ; 
Black  man  hauling  in  the  cargo, 

Sun  am  very  hot  upon  the  head ; 
When  he  done,  he  dance  a  jolly  jargo, 

Rum,  turn,  on  the  banjo,  and  then  to  bed. 

CHORUS. 

To  my  oakum,  to  my  chokum, 
Oh,  Pompey,  can  t  you  pick  a  peck  of  oakum  ? 
Ah  !   ah  !   ah  !  golly,  ain't  the  levee  nigger  free, 
Working  on  the  cotton  boat,  ten  shilling  a  day  ? 
Johnny  can't  you  pick  upon  the  banjo  j 
Oh,  me,  oh,  my,  mamma,  mamma,  mamma,  don't 
you  hear  the  baby  cry. 

When  I  used  to  work  off  in  the  river, 

Satin  wood  and  water  all  the  day, 
Chilly  wind  he  come  and  make  me  shiver, 

Oh,  glad  this  child  he  was  to  get  away ; 
White  man  he  gave  me  silver  dollar, 

Ev'ry  day  I  work  upon  the  dock ; 
Then  I  get  some  whisky  and  I  holler, 

Blome,  blome,  caterrego  rock. 
This  child  is  fond  of  fried  'tatoe, 

Catfich  and  coffee,  oh,  it's  nice  ; 
It  make  him  feel  just  like  an  alligator 

When  him  just  about  to  catch  a  mice; 
When  the  bell  he  rings  I  go  to  dinner, 

Den  I  goes  and  see  my  Dinah  dear ; 
I'll  marry  her  as  sure  as  I'm  a  sinner, 

And  love  her  all  the  days  in  tho  year. 


16 

Eing  the  Bell,  Watchman, 

Com'pd   by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,   Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

High  in  the  belfry  the  old  sexton  stands, 
Grasping  the  rope  with  his  thin,  bony  hands; 
Fixed  in  his  gaze,  as  by  some  magic  spell, 
Till  he  hears  the  distant  murmur — ring,  ring  the  bell. 

CHORUS. 

Ring  the  bell,  watchman — ring!  ring!  ring! 
Yes,  yes  !  the  good  news  is  now  on  the  wing ; 
Yes,  yes  !  they  come,  and  with  tidings  to  tell, 
Glorious  and  blessed  tidings — ring,  ring  the  bell. 

Baring  his  long  silver  locks  to  the  breeze, 

First  for  a  moment  he  drops  on  his  knees  ; 

Then  with  a  vigor  that  few  could  excel, 

Answers  he  the  welcome  bidding — ring,  ring  the  bell. 

Hear,  from  the  hill-top,  the  first  signal  gun 
Thunders  the  word  that  some  great  deed  is  done ; 
Hear,  through  the  valley,  the  long  echoes  swell, 
Ever  and  anon  repeating — ring,  ring  the  bell. 

Bonfires  are  blazing  and  rockets  ascend — 
No  meager  triumph  such  tokens  portend ; 
Shout !  shout !  my  brothers,  for  "  all,  all  is  well !" 
'Tis  the  universal  chorus — ring,  ring  the  bell. 


"  She  Sleeps  Beneath  the  Elms." 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers,  95 
Clark  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

My  darling  sleeps  beneath  the  lofty  elms, 

Where  song-birds  warble  in  their  leafy  homes, 

And  soft  winds  linger  in  the  waving  grass, 
Then  sadly  murmur  as  they  onward  roam ; 


17 


Bright  dew-pearls  glitter  where  the  violets  hide, 

When  morn  in  beauty  lightly  treads  the  ground, 
The  sunshine  steals  amid  the  trembling  leaves, 
And  casts  its  shadows  on  the  little  mound, 
ciionrs. 
My  darling  sleeps  beneath  the  lofty  elms, 

Where  song-birds  warble  in  their  leafy  home, 
And  soft  winds  linger  in  the  waving  grass, 
Then  sadly  murmur  as  they  onward  roam. 

Tread  softly  near  the  spot  where  Milly  lies, 

Do  not  disturb  her  sweet  and  peaceful  sleep, 
I  But  let  her  calmly  rest  beneath  the  flowers. 

Although  her  waking  not  makes  fond  hearts  weep  ; 
And  I  will  dream  that  still  she  lingers  here, 

AVith  curls  unbound,  and  eyes  so  brightly  blue, 
Her  soft  caress  I  feel  upon  my  cheek, 

And  now  my  heart  her  sweet  voice  echoes  through. 

But  oh  !  the  sadness  resting  on  my  soul, 

Still  wakes  the  heart-throb  as  it  did  of  old, 
AVhen  fancy  brings  me  back  that  little  form, 

In  all  its  beauty,  with  its  curls  of  gold ; 
How  gently  on  that  day  when  Milly  died, 

The  sun  in  ambient  glory  sunk  to  rest, 
Her  sweet  young  life  departed  with  his  rays, 

And  twilight  shadows  gathered  o'er  the  west. 

Those  self-same  shadows  cling  around  me  yet, 

And  dim  the  brightness  of  my  life  to-day, 
And  yet  I  know  my  loved  one  has  but  gone 

To  that  fair  home- with  angels  far  away  ; 
But  still  how  dear  the  spot  beneath  the  elms, 

My  poor  heart  deems  that  still  she  resteth  there, 
And  dearer  far  than  costly  gems  or  pearl^ 

I  prize  the  tiny  curl  of  golden  hair. 


18 

Poor  Kitty  Popcorn. 

Copied   by  pprmission  of   Root   &  Cady.   Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Did  you  ever  hear  the  story  of  the  loyal  cat,  me-yow  ! 
Who  was  faithful  to  the  flag,  and  ever  followed  that  ? 

me-yow  ! 
Oh,  she  had  a  happy  home  beneath  a  Southern  sky, 
But  she  packed  her  goods  and  left  it  when  our  troops 

came  nigh, 
And  she  fell  into  the  column  with  a  low,  glad  ciy — 

me-yow  ! 

CHORUS. 

Poor  Kitty  Popcorn  !  buried  in  a  snow-drift  now, 
Nevermore   shall  ring  the  music  of  your  charming 
song — me-yow  ! 

Round  her  neck  she  wore  a  ribbon — she  was  black  as 

jet — me-yow  ! 
And  at  once  a  gallant  claimed  her  for  a  soldier's  pet, 

me-yow  ! 
All  the  perils  of  the  battle  and  the  march  she  bore, 
Climbing  on  her  master's  shoulder  when    her    feet 

were  sore, 
Whispering  in  his  ear  with  wonder  at  the  cannon's 

roar — me-yow  !  (Chorus.) 

Now  the  "  cruel  war  is  over,"  and  the  troops  disband, 

me-yow  ! 
Kitty  follows  as  a  pilgrim  to  the  northern  land — 


me-yow 


Ah,  but  sorrow  overtakes  her,  and  her  master  dies, 
While  she  sadly  sits  a-gazing  in  his  dim  blue  eyes, 
Till  by  strangers  driven  rudely  from  the  door,  she 
cries — me-yow  /  (Chorus.) 


19 

So  she  wanders  on  the  prairie  till  she  sees  his  form — 

mc-yow  ! 
Carried   forth   and   bnried   roughly  'raid  the  driving 

storm — me-yoic  ! 
Oh  !  her  slender  frame  it  shivers  in  the  northern  blast, 
As  she  seeks  the  sandy  mound  on  which  the  snow 

falls  last, 
And  alone  amid  the  darkness  there  she  breathes  her 

last — me-yow  !  (Chorus.) 


fhey  all  Come  Home  but  Mine, 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  Braixard  &  Son.  Music  Publishers, 
203Superior  St.,  Cleveland,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

They  all  come  home  but  mine  again; 

Why  lingers  he  so  long  away  ? 
I  gaze  on  every  face  in  vain, 

And  watch  through  all  the  weary  day. 
cnoRUS. 
Xo  more  !  my  darling,  my  boy  no  more  will  come, 

He  sleeps  by  Rappahannock's  wave  ; 
Sweet  birds,  oh !  sing  him  songs  of  home, 
Kind  angels  guard  his  lonely  grave. 
How  sad  his  dying  words  to  hear : 

M  Oh,  mother  !  mother  !  give  me  bread  !" 
To  hear  him  ask  M  Is  mother  near  ? 

Oh  !  smooth  my  aching,  weary  head."     (Cho.) 
Through  all  the  night  I  hear  his  cry  : 

"  Oh  !  give  me  bread — oh  !  take  me  home  ! 
So  sad  to  die  with  no  one  nigh, 

And  to  my  grave  no  sister  come !"    (Chorus.) 
No  mother's  prayer,  no  sisters  tear, 

To  soothe  liis  dying  hour  so  lone; 
Thus  died  my  boy  with  no  one  near — 

He  sleeps  in  lonely  grave  unknown.  (Cnonus.) 


20 

Now  Den!  Now  Den! 

Copied  "by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers,  67 
Washington  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

De  darkies  say,  clis  many  a  day, 

We's  fax  from  de  land  ob  Canaan ; 
Oh !  whar  shall  we  go,  from  de  white-faced  foe, 

Oh !  whar  shall  we  find  our  Canaan. 

CHORUS. 

Now,  den  !  now,  den  !  into  de  cotton,  darkies, 
Plow  in  de  cane  till  ye  reach  de  berry  bottom,  darkies  ; 
Ho  !  we  go  for  the  rice-swamp  low, 
Hurrah  for  de  land  ob  Canaan. 

Oh,  happy  day,  de  darkies  say, 

For  at  last  "  we've"  found  our  Canaan ; 

Old  Jordan's  flood  rolled  red  with  blood, 

But  we  marched  right  ober  into  Canaan.    (Cho.) 

No  driver's  horn  calls  de  slave  at  morn, 

Jordan  swamped  him  crossing  into  Canaan ; 

But  at  break  ob  day  we're  away,  we're  away, 
For  to  till  de  fertile  fields  ob  Canaan.  (Chorus.) 

Come  ye  runaways  back,  dat  underground  track 
Couldn't  neber,  neber  lead  you  into  Canaan  ; 

Here  your  fathers  sleep,  here  your  loved  one's  weep, 
Oh !  come  home  to  de  happy  land  ob  Canaan 

Now,  den  !  now,  den  !  into  de  cotton,  darkies, 

Plow  in  de  cane  till  ye  reach  de  berry  bottom,  darkies; 

Ho  !  we  go  for  the  rice-swamp  low, 

Hurrah  for  de  land  ob  Canaan. 

Oh,  Canaan,  sweet  Canaan, 

We's  been  hunting  for  de  lana  ob  Canaan, 

Canaan  is  now  our  happy  home, 

Hurrah  for  de  land  ob  Canaan. 


21 


"  All  Yesterday  I  was  Spinning." 

All  yesterday  I  was  spinning, 

Sitting  alone  in  the  sun ; 
And  the  dream  that  I  spun  was  so  lengthy, 

It  lasted  till  day  was  done. 
I  heeded  not  cloud  or  shadow 

That  flitted  over  the  hill, 
Or  the  humming  bees,  or  the  swallows, 

Or  the  trickling  of  the  rill. 

I  took  the  threads  for  my  spinning, 

All  of  blue  summer  air, 
And  a  flickering  ray  of  sunlight 

Was  woven  in  here  and  there. 
The  shadows  grew  longer  and  longer, 

The  evening  wind  passed  by, 
And  the  purple  splendor  of  sunset 

Was  flooding  the  western  sky. 

But  I  could  not  leave  my  spinning, 

For  so  fair  my  dream  had  grown, 
I  heeded  not  hour  by  hour, 

How  the  silent  day  had  flown. 
At  last  the  gray  shadows  fell  round  me, 

And  the  night  came  dark  and  chill, 
And  I  rose  and  ran  down  the  valley, 

And  left  it  all  on  the  hill. 

I  went  up  the  hill  this  morning, 

To  the  place  where  my  spinning  lay, 

There  was  nothing  but  glistening  dew-dropi 
Remained  of  my  dream  to-day, 
Remained  of  my  dream  to-day, 
Remained  of  my  dream  to-day. 


22 

Tobias  and  Biancos. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Sep.  Winner  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
933  Spring  Garden  St.,  Philadelphia,  ovrners  of  the  copyright. 

There  was  a  farmer  had  two  sons, 

Each  was  the  other's  brother, 

Tobias  was  the  name  of  one, 

Biancos  of  the  other. 

These  brothers  had  an  old  blue  coat, 

They  bought  an  Easter  Monday, 

Tobias  wore  it  all  the  week, 

Biancos  on  a  Sunday. 

Chorus — Biancos  on  a  Sunday, 

Biancos  on  a  Sunday, 

Tobias  wore  it  all  the  week, 

Biancos  on  a  Sunday. 

These  brothers  had  an  old  gray  hoss, 

And  this  old  hoss  was  blinded, 
Tobias  rode  him  on  afore, 

Biancos  on  behind  did. 
They  sometimes  to  the  circus  went, 

Where  one  man  rode  two  hosses, 
But  never  saw  two  ride  on  one, 

Without  a  fear  of  tosses. 
Chorus — Without  a  fear  of  tosses,  etc. 

The  old  man  was  a  Methodist, 

And  much  opposed  to  steal  in', 
He  wore  his  pants  out  at  the  knees, 

Adoin'  so  much  kneelin'. 
Tobias  he  a  tailor  made, 

To  give  his  clothes  a  patchin', 
Biancos  swore  because  his  goose 

Was  not  the  kind  for  hatchin'. 
Chorus — Was  not  the  kind  for  hatchin',  etc. 


At  last  T_pbias  dlec^  he  did. 

But  poor  Biancos  tamed, 
To  worry  through  a  sorry  life, 

That  come  of  being  married. 
The  old  man  parted  with  his  boys, 

And  now  I'll  end  my  story, 
They  say  at  one  camp-meeting  he 

Went  off  a-shoutin'  glory. 
Chorus — Went  off  a-shoutin'  glory,  etc 


Violets  Under  the  Snow. 

[As  song  by  Mdlle.  Parepa.] 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broad  way,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  April  winds  piped  merry  and  gay, 

The  April  sun  was  burning  bright, 
And  all  the  day  had  melted  away 

The  snow-drifts  clear  and  white, 
Till  the  blue  violet  in  the  white  snow  set, 

Was  wakened  from  sleep  by  its  fiery  light ; 
Oh  !  there's  nothing  so  bright,  by  day  or  by  night, 

In  all  the  seasons'  ebb  and  flow, 
As  the  clear  blue  eyes,  like  mimic  skies, 

Of  violets  under  the  snow. 

The  April  wasted  into  the  May, 

And  still  the  May-day  sun  was  bright, 
And  all  day  long,  in  sun  and  song* 

Had  wasted  the  snow-drift  white, 
Till  the  blue  violet  in  the  white  snow  set, 

Sprung  up  on  the  grove  of  the  snow-drift  white  ; 
Oh!  there's  nothing  eo  bright,  by  day  or  by  night, 

In  all  the  seasons'  ebb  and  flow, 
As  the  clear  blue  eyes,  like  mimic  skies, 

Of  violets  under  the  snow. 


Repeat. 


Repeat. 


24 

The  Liberty  Bird. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers,  95 
Clark  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

On  a  mountain  whose  cloud-piercing  summit  appeared. 
Like  a  throne  for  the  storm-king  by  whirlwinds  up- 
reared, 
Dwelt  an  eagle,  and  long  had  his  proud  form  outrode 
The  storms  that  swept  over  his  mountain  abode. 
He  had  for  a  century  breasted  their  power, 
And  his  flight  was  more  noble  since  each  than  before  ; 
Through  all  that  wide  region  his  fame  has  been  heard, 
And  they  called  that  proud  eagle  the  Liberty  Bird. 

A  small  crawling  reptile  by  some  means  had  made 
Its  home  in  the  cleft  of  the  rock,  'neath  the  shade 
Of  the  mountain-bird's  nest ;  and  the  eagle  disdained 
That  his  beak  by  its  ignoble  blood  should  be  stained. 
Secure  in  contempt — more  noble  than  wise, 
It  nourished  and  grew  to  a  serpent  in  size  ; 
Till  it  dreamed  in  its  malice,  by  jealousy  stirred, 
Of  humbling  the  pride  of  the  Liberty  Bird. 

The  eagle  sat  perched  in  his  glory  on  high, 

When  the  reptile  came  forth  his  fierce  power  to  defy ; 

And,  hissing  its  serpentine  venom  and  spite, 

Approached  the  bold  eagle's  precipitous  hight, 

While  the  eagle  looked  scornfully  down  on  his  foe, 

Till  the  reptile  at  length  was  directly  below ; 

Then  he  spread  his  broad  wings  and  his  wild  scream 

was  heard, 
And  into  mid-air  sprung  the  Liberty  Bird. 

A  moment  he  poised  on  his  serial  hight, 
Then  downward  he  swooped  like  the  gleaming  of  light, 
The  treacherous  snake  in  his  talons  he  clutched, 
While  his  proud  plumage  fluttered  aloft,  all  untouched ; 


25 


Its  vitals,  its  heart,  from  its  bosom  lie  tore, 

Then  spurned  the  base  earcase,  and  heavenward  did 

soar; 
And  the  wild  notes  of  freedom  in  triumph  were  heard 
Bursting  forth  from  the  throat  of  the  Liberty  Bird. 

When  Fenians  Fight  for  Freedom. 

Copied  by  permission  of  W.  A.  Poxd  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owner*  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  I'm  the  boy  that  wears  the  green 

In  spite  of  England's  power, 
And  in  the  future  mist  is  seen 

Sweet  Erin's  coming  hour ; 
Then  keep  your  arms  prepared  to  strike, 

Old  Ireland's  sure  to  need  them, 
Saint  Patrick  will  defend  the  right 

"When  Fenians  fight  for  freedom. 

CHORUS. 

Roll  on  !  roll  on !  time  will  tell  the  tale, 

Roll  on  !  roll  on  !  the  cause  can  never  fail ; 

Now  the  M  cruel  war  is  over  here, 

Let  Ireland  strike  the  hlow, 

And  we'll  win  the  fight,  for  "  right  is  might," 

"When  Fenians  fight  for  freedom. 

Then  raise  the  glorious  flag  of  green, 

And  strike  the  harp  of  Erin, 
Your  hearts  are  bold,  your  blades  are  keen, 

Tis  not  the  hour  to  fear  in ; 
And  should  your  children  orphans  be, 

Your  country's  love  will  feed  them : 
Awake  !  arise !  and  cross  the  sea, 

When  Fenians  fight  for  freedom.       (Crronrs.) 


26 

Farewell  Song  of  Enoch  Arden. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Sep.  Winner  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
933  Spring  Garden  St.,  Phila.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Cheer  up,  Annie  darling,  with  hopeful  emotion, 

To-morrow  our  parting  must  be ; 
I'll  sail  the  seas  over,  I'll  cross  the  wide  ocean, 

I'll  sail  the  seas  over  for  thee. 
I  will  not  forget  Ihee,  ah,  never !  no,  never ! 

I  can  not  forget  thee,  I  know ; 
Thy  smile,  like  a  phantom,  shall  haunt  me  forever, 

And  cheer  me  where'er  I  may  go. 

CHORUS. 

Good-by,  Annie  darling,  break  off  from  thy  sorrow, 

'Tis  sad  that  our  parting  must  be ; 
I'll  sail  the  seas  over,  I'll  cross  the  wide  ocean, 

I'll  sail  the  seas  over  for  thee. 

I  go,  Annie  darling,  but  leave  thee  in  sorrow, 

I  go,  for  thy  sake,  far  away ; 
Tften  bid  me  good-by,  with  a  smile,  on  the  morrow, 

And  cheer  me  with  blessings,  I  pnay. 
I'll  think  of  thee  ever,  and  pray  for  thee  only, 

As  over  the  waters  I  roam ; 
I'll  tarry  not,  darling,  and  leave  thee  all  lonely, 

But  hasten  again  to  my  home.  (Chorus.) 

Out,  out  on  the  ocean,  away  o'er  the  billow, 

My  heart  on  its  purpose  still  bent, 
My  brow  shall  find  rest,  when  I  seek  nry  lone  pillow, 

In  knowing  that  thou  art  content. 
Cheer  up,  Annie  darling,  break  off  from  thy  sorrow, 

'Tis  sad  that  our  parting  must  be ; 
But  give  me  thy  smile,  when  I  leave  thee  to-morrow, 

To  sail  the  seas  over  for  thee.  (Chorus.) 


"l\ow  Moses.5' 


Copied  by  permission  of  Hoot  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers,  95 
Clark  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright 

Now,  Moses,  what  makes  you  so  strange  and  forgetful? 

How  is  it  you  heed  what  I  tell  you  no  more  ? 
Just  look  at  your  picture — who  would  not  be  fretful ! 

Your  great  muddy  boots  on  my  clean  kitchen  floor. 
And  there  you  are  smoking,  oh,  dear !  'tis  provoking, 

To  tease  and  torment  me  it  is  your  desire  ; 
I'll  throw  your  old — no,  sir,  indeed  I'm  not  joking — 

I'll  throw  your  old  meerschaum  right  into  the  lire. 

CHORUS. 

Now,  Moses,  you'll  catch  it !  now,  Moses,  don't  touch  it, 
Now,  Moses,  don't  you  hear  what  I  say  ? 

'Tis  thus,  without  stopping,  the  music  keeps  dropping, 
For  night  after  night,  and  for  day  after  day. 

Now,  Moses,  do  tell  me — now,  what  are  you  doing 

Off  there  in  the  pantry,  so  stiil  and  so  sly  ? 
I  know  very  well  there  is  some  mischief  brewing — 

Ha !  that's  what  you're  after — a  whole  cherry  pie. 
Stop  !  stop  !  you  are  taking  the  last  of  my  baking, 

The  very  last  pie  that  was  left  on  the  shelf; 
If  ever  one  did,  you  deserve  a  good  shaking, 

And  I've  a  great  notion  to  try  it  myself.  (Chorus.) 

Now,  Moses,  come,  let  us  be  pleasant  and  clever, 

We  must  not,  in  future,  lead  such  a  sad  life ; 
Come,  you  be  my  dear,  noble  husband  forever, 

And  I'll  be,  forever,  your  tweet,  loving  wife. 
Of  course,  none  supposes  that  lite  is  all  n 

But  really  I  think  that — well,  now,  1  declare  ! 
You  rascal  !  you  villain  !  you  stupid  thing,  Moses ! 

You  laid  your  old  curry-comb  right  in  my  chair. 


28 

We  are  Coming  Home  To-Morrow. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Bitson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

"We  are  coming  home  to-morrow, 

All  our  work  is  bravely  done ; 
Girls  will  welcome  back  their  brothers, 

Mother,  welcome  home  your  son. 
We  have  fought  the  battles  nobly, 

We  have  conquered  one  by  one; 
We  are  coining  back  with  laurels, 

Mother,  welcome  home  your  son. 
chorus. 
We  are  coming  home  to-morrow, 

Coming  home  to  part  no  more ; 
For  Secession  has  gone  under, 

And  this  "  cruel  war  is  o'er !" 

All  our  hearts  are  filled  with  joy, 

For  to-morrow  we  will  start, 
And  we'll  meet  the  waiting  loved  ones 

Never  more  again  to  part. 
Yet  there's  many  will  be  mourning 

For  the  soldiers  that  are  left; 
"Each  heart  knoweth  its  own  sorrows" — 

Many,  many  are  bereft.  (Chorus.) 

Oh  !  we're  sorry  for  our  comrades, 

That  fought  bravely  by  our  side ; 
And  who,  in  the  midst  of  battle, 

With  a  groan  and  sigh  have  died. 
But  we'll  drop  the  subject  now — 

Drop  it  for  a  little  while, 
For  wTe're  coming  home  to-morrow, 

And  we  want  to  see  you  smile.    (Chorus.) 


29 


Lost  Star  of  my  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wi.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Thou  art  gone  and  bereft  me  of  all  I  bold  dear, 
And  peace  from  my  bosom  forever  has  fled, 

There's  no  one  in  future  to  comfort  or  cheer  me, 
Joys  that  were  boundless,  now  faded  and  dead. 

CHORUS. 

Life  has  no  charm,  for  I  miss  thee  forever, 
How  dark  is  my  future,  my  idol  has  flown ; 

Oh  !  sad  is  my  poor  heart,  a  stranger  to  pleasure, 
I  miss  thee,  my  darling,  lost  star  of  my  home. 

I  sigh  for  the  days  when,  forgetting  the  morrow, 
We  wandered  at  night  as  our  love-star  would  rise, 

When  doubts  fled  away,  and  I  thought  not  of  sorrow, 
But  drank  in  the  light  of  thy  beautiful  eyes. 

CHORUS. 

Life  has  no  charm,  for  I  miss  thee  forever, 
How  dark  is  my  future,  my  idol  has  flown  ; 

Oh  !  sad  is  my  poor  heart,  a  stranger  to  pleasure, 
I  miss  thee,  my  darling,  lost  star  of  my  home. 

Lost  star  of  my  home,  wilt  thou  roam  o'er  the  billow, 

To  dwell  among  strangers,  unloved  and  unknown  ? 

Why  leave  me  in  sorrow  to  grieve  'neath  the  willow, 

And  sadly  remember  the  days  that  are  gone  ? 

chorus. 

Life  has  no  charm,  for  I  miss  thee  forever, 

How  dark  is  my  future,  my  idol  has  flown ; 
Oh  !  sad  is  my  poor  heart,  a  stranger  to  pleasure, 
I  miss  thee,  my  darling,  lost  star  of  my  home. 


30 

Polly  Perkins,  of  Paddington  Green, 

I'm  a  broken-hearted  milkman,  in  grief  I'm  arrayed 
Through  keeping  of  the  company  of  a  young  servant 

maid, 
Who  lived  on  board  wages,  the  house  to  keep  clean, 
In  a  gentleman's  family  near  Paddington  Green. 

CHORUS. 

Oh !  she  was  as  beautiful  as  a  butterfly,  and  as  proud 

as  a  queen, 
Was  pretty  little  Polly  Perkins,  of  Paddington  Green. 

Her  eyes  were  as  black  as  the  pips  of  a  pear, 
No  rose  in  the  garden  with  her  cheeks  could  compare, 
Her  hair  hung  in  '  ringerlets '  so  beautillil  and  long, 
I  thought  that  she  loved  me,  but  I  found  I  was  wrong. 

When  I'd  rattle  in  a  morning,  and  cry  "  milk  below," 
At  the  sound  of  my  milk-cans  her  face  she  would  show, 
"With  a  smile  upon  her  countenance,  and  a  laugh  in 

her  eye, 
If  I  thought  she'd  have  loved  me,  I'd  have  laid  down 

to  die. 

When  I  asked  her  to  marry  me,  she  said,  "  Oh,  what 

stuff!" 
And  told  me  to  "  drop  it,  for  she'd  had  quite  enough 
Of  my  nonsense,"  at  the  same  time,  I'd  been  very  kind, 
But  to  marry  a  milkman  she  didn't  feel  inclined. 

"  Oh,  the  man  that  has  me  must  have  silver  and  gold, 
A  chariot  to  ride  in,  and  be  handsome  and  bold ; 
His  hair  must  be  curly  as  any  watch-spring, 
And  his  whiskers  as  big  as  a  brush  for  clothing." 


31 


The  words  that  she  uttered  went  straight  through  my 

heart, 
I  sobbed,  I  sighed,  and  straight  did  depart, 
With  a  tear  on  my  eyelid  as  big  as  a  bean, 
Bidding  good-by  to  Polly  and  Paddiugton  Green. 

In  six  months  she  married,  this  hard-hearted  girl, 
But  it  was  not  a  '  Wfooant,1  and  it  was  not  a  '  'Near!,' 

-  not  a  '  Bar-ro-nite,'  but  a  shade  or  two  ' 
Twas  a  bow-legged  conductor  of  a  two-penny  :bus. 


Ellie  Ehee. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Winner  &  Co..  Music  Publishers,  933 
Spring  Garden  St..  Philadelphia,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Sweet  Ellie  Rhee,  so  dear  to  me, 

Is  lost  forevermore  ; 

Our  home  was  down  in  Tennessee, 

Before  dis  cruel  war. 

Chorus — Then  carry  me  back  to  Tennessee, 

Back  where  I  long  to  be, 

Among  the  fields  of  yellow  corn, 

To  my  darling  Ellie  Rhee. 

Oh,  why  did  I,  from  day  to  day, 

Keep  wishing  to  be  free, 

And  from  my  massa  run  away, 

And  leave  my  Ellie  Rhee.         (Chorus.) 

They  said  that  I  would  soon  be  free, 

And  happy  all  de  day, 

But  if  dey  take  me  back  again, 

I'll  neber  run  away.  (Chorus.) 

The  war  is  over  now  at  last, 

De  colored  race  am  free, 

Dat  good  time  comin'  on  so  fast, 

-  dun  for  to  see.  (Chorus.) 


Sing  me  to  Sleep,  Father. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Boot  &  Oadt,  Music  Publishers,  C7 
Washington  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Let  me  sit  at  your  feet,  with  my  bead  on  your  knee, 

For  of  all  'tis  the  place  that  is  dearest  to  me ; 

Oh !  how  oft  in  my  childhood  you've  soothed  me  to 

rest, 
With  your  arm  thrown  around  me,  my  head  on  your 

breast ; 
Then  you  called  me  your  darling,  your  own  little  bird, 
Those  songs  were  the  sweetest  my  ears  ever  heard. 
Oh !  sing  to  me,  father,  although  I  may  weep, 
Sing  me  to  sleep,  father,  sing  me  to  sleep. 

Oh !  how  often,  my  father,  just  here  on  your  knee, 
I  have  sat  while  the  twilight  fell  over  the  lea ; 
And  you  told  me  of  mother,  who  drifted  away, 
O'er  the  death-shadowed  river,  at  sunset  one  day, 
To  the  city  Eternal,  where  always  is  rest, 
And  left  me,  her  baby,  asleep  on  }^our  breast ; 
My  heart  fills  with  memories  solemn  and  deep, 
Sing  me  to  sleep,  father,  sing  me  to  sleep. 

To  the  years  that  have  vanished  so  quickly  away, 
Call  my  heart  with  its  yearning  and  longing  to-day ; 
Oh  !  the  love  that  my  heart  in  its  innocence  knew, 
It  was  fair  like  an  angel's  dream,  tender  and  true  ; 
Wilt  thou  come  to  me,  dear  one,  wherever  thou  art, 
And  light  up  the  love-fires  anew  in  my  heart  ? 
Oh  !  drive  out  the  shadows  that  over  me  creep, 
Sing  me  to  sleep,  father,  sing  me  to  sleep. 

Oh !  my  father  beloved,  the  years  that  have  flown 
Have  my  earth-treasures  taken,  and  left  me  alone ; 


33 


So  in  sadness  and  loneliness  come  I  to  you. 
To  the  dear  heart  that's  always  so  tender  and  true  ; 
You  will  take  me,  I  know,  to  your  side  as  of  yore, 
And  love  and  protect  me,  and  bless  me  once  more ; 
Oh  !  sweet  shall  the  harvest  be,  whene'er  you  reap, 
Sing  me  to  sleep,  father,  sing  me  to  sleep. 


The  Oot  Where  the  Old  Folks  Died. 

Copied  bypermiasion  of  Oliver  Ditson  <fe  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  never  shall  tell  who  the  old  folks  were, 

Tis  wasting  of  time  and  breath, 
To  give  you  the  names  of  the  humble  pair, 

Who  have  passed  through  the  courts  of  death 
But  the  cot  on  the  lot,  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 

Near  the  spot  where  I  sat  and  cried, 
Tis  the  lot  where  the  old  folks  toiled  and  lived, 

And  the  cot  where  the  old  folks  died. 

CHORUS. 

When  I  tire  of  the  toils  and  the  cares  of  life, 
Oh  I'then,  at  the  spot  where  I  cried, 

Near  the  cot  let  me  sleep,  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 
Nestled  down  by  the  old  folks'  side. 

It's  dearer,  far,  to  my  weary  heart, 

Than  the  dearest  spot  of  earth, 
For  that  wras  the  cot  on  the  lot  on  the  hill, 

Where  the  old  folks  gave  me  birth  ; 
There's  a  slab  near  the  cot  on  the  lot  on  the  hill, 

That  will  tell  to  the  traveler  there, 
When  the  old  folks  passed  through  the  gates  of  death, 

And  the  names  of  the  humble  pair.  (Chorus.) 


34 

I  Wonder  why  he  Comes  Not. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers,  67 
Washington  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  wonder  why  he  comes  not, 

I  hear  the  rolling  drum 
Of  the  boys  in  blue  returning  home, 

But  still  he  does  not  come. 
I  see  the  tattered  standards 

They  proudly  bear  on  high, 
And  mark  the  gleam  of  home  delights 

That  gladdens  every  eye. 

CHORUS. 

I  wonder  why  he  comes  not, 

I  hear  the  rolling  drum 
Of  the  boys  in  blue  returning  home, 

But  still  he  does  not  come. 

I  wonder  why  he  comes  not, 

I  hear  the  happy  shout, 
From  rank  to  rank,  along  the  line, 

As  loving  forms  peep  out. 
From  every  open  window, 

A  kiss  or  smile  is  thrown, 
But  still — but  still — he  comes  not  home, 

The  one  I  call  my  own.  (Chorus.) 

I  wonder  why  he  comes  not, 

Alas  !  my  throbbing  heart 
But  echoes  back  the  fears  it  gave 

When  we  were  forced  to  part. 
I  dare  not  ask  his  comrades, 

Who  battled  by  Ins  side, 
Why  they  are  here  and  he  is  not, 

My  loved  one  and  my  pride.         (Chorus.) 


35 

I  wonder  why  he  comes  not, 

I  know  it  full  too  well, 
That  where  the  battle  fiercest  raged, 

'Twas  there  my  brave  one  fell. 
And  through  the  burning  tear-drops, 

My  eye  will  vainly  roam, 
To  find  his  form  the  ranks  among, 

He'll  never,  never  come. 

<  IIORUS. 

I  wonder  why  he  comes  not, 
How  mocks  the  rolling  drum ; 

I  search  in  vain  the  ranks  among, 
He'll  never,  never  come. 


It  is  the  Miller's  Daughter. 

It  is  the  miller's  daughter, 

And  she  is  grown  so  dear, 
That  I  would  be  the  jewel 

That  tremble's  at  her  ear, 
For  hid  in  ringlets  day  and  night, 
I'd  touch  the  neck  so  warm  and  white* 

And  I  would  be  the  girdle 

About  her  dainty  waist, 
Her  heart  would  beat  against  me, 

In  sorrow  and  in  rest, 
And  I  should  know  if  it  beat  right, 
I'd  clasp  it  round  so  close  and  tight 

And  I  would  be  the  necklace, 

All  day  to  fall  and  rise, 
Upon  her  balmy  bosom, 

With  her  laughter  and  her  sighs, 
And  I  should  lie  so  light,  so  light, 

should  be  unclasped  at  night 


36 

He's  got  his  Discharge  from  the  Army. 

[A  companion  to  "  Grafted  into  the  Army.'1] 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers^ 

277 'Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

My  Jimmy's  got  home,  I  am  ever  so  glad, 

He's  got  his  discharge  from  the  army. 
He  behaved  himself  well,  and  he  was  a  brave  lad, 
So  they  gave  him  his  discharge  from  the  army. 
The  boys  they  all  loved  him,  his  captain  did  say 
That  in  battle  around  him  dead  rebels  did  lay, 
He  fought  for  his  country  and  not  for  the  pay, 
So  he  got  his  discharge  from  the  army. 

CHORUS. 

Oh,  Jimmy,  my  dear,  your  mammy's  so  glad, 

That  you're  safely  at  home  from  the  army, 
He's  a  dear  darling  boy  and  a  brave  little  lad, 
And  he's  got  his  discharge  from  the  army. 
His  coat  is  all  tattered,  his  trowsers  are  torn, 
But  he's  got  his  discbarge  from  the  army. 
We'll  give  him  a  bran  new  suit  now  he  has  got  home, 

And  all  the  brave  boys  of  our  army. 
Now  queer  is  the  style,  that  the  chivalry  wear, 
When  Jeff  Davis  thought  our  brave  boys  he  would 

scare, 
And  for  his  wife's  advice  not  a  bit  did  they  care, 

He  was  too  good  a  prize  for  our  army.     (Chorus.) 
Now  rebellion  is  over  and  Jeffy  got  ketched, 

'Twas  done  by  our  boys  of  the  army. 
There's  Davis  and  Co.,  they  ought  to  be  stretched, 

'Twould  suit  all  the  boys  in  our  army. 
But  I'm  mightly  pleased  he  is  done  up  so  well, 
Rebellion  is  crushed,  the  traitors  have  fell, 
But  what  tickles  me  most  is  that  my  Jimmy  is  well, 
And  he's  got  his  discharge  from  the  army.(CHORUS.) 


37 


Move  my  Arm-chair  Dearest  Mother. 

Copiedby  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Move  my  arm-chair,  dearest  mother, 

In  the  sunshine  bright  and  strong, 
For  this  world  is  fading,  mother, 

I  shall  not  be  with  you  long; 
And  I  fain  would  have  the  north  wind 

Bring  once  more  the  sight  to  me, 
Of  our  starry  banner  wraving, 

On  the  shores  of  Tennessee. 

CHORUS. 

Move  my  arm-chair,  dearest  mother, 
In  the  sunshine  bright  and  strong, 

For  this  world  is  fading,  mother, 
I  shall  not  be  with  you  long. 

Mournful  though  the  ripples  murmur, 

As  they  still  the  story  tell, 
How  no  vessels  float  the  banner, 

That  I've  loved  so  long  and  will, 
I  shall  listen  to  their  music, 

Dreaming  that  again  I  see 
Stars  and  stripes  on  sloop  and  shallop, 

Sailing  up  the  Tennessee.  (Chorus.) 

Thus  he  watches  oioud-born  shadows, 

Glide  from  tree  to  mountain  crest, 
Softly  creeping  ay  and  ever 

To  the  river's  yielding  breast ; 
Ha !  above  the  foliage  yonder 

Something  flutters  wild  and  free — 
Glory,  Glory  hallelujah  ! 

The  flag's  come  back  to  Tennessee.        (Cno.) 


Waiting  at  the  Old  Linden  Tree. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers,  67 
Washington  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

In  the  twilight  m}r  darling  is  waiting, 

And  she's  long,  long  been  waiting  for  me, 
While  I  pine  in  this  dungeon  of  horrors, 

Nellie  wTeeps  'neath  the  old  linden  tree ; 
For  'twas  there  first  we  met  as  timid  strangers, 

It  was  there  that  our  loves  were  first  revealed, 
It  was  there  that  in  sadness  we  parted, 

When  I  sped  with  my  sword  to  the  field. 

CHORUS. 

Oh,  Nellie  !  angel  Nellie  ! 

Waiting  and  weeping  in  thy  loneliness  for  me, 
Shall  these  arms  ne'er  enfold  thee,  my  darling, 

As  we  sit  'neath  the  old  linden  tree. 
Oh !  the  spell  of  the  demon  is  broken, 

And  the  prisoner,  thank  heaven,  is  free, 
Now  a  shout  for  my  flag  and  my  country, 

Then  away  to  the  old  linden  tree ; 
Oh  !  remembrance  of  sorrow,  here  I  fly  thee, 

Thou  dark  hell,  stay  forevermore  behind, 
Nellie,  darling,  thou'rt  heaven  before  me, 

And  I  speed  on  the  wings  of  the  wind. 
Soon  thy  glad  cry  of  welcome  shall  greet  me, 

Soon  thy  fairy-like  form  I  shall  see, 
Soon  these  arms  shall  enfold  thee,  my  darling, 

As  we  sit  'neath  the  old  linden  tree ; 
Oh !  thine  eyelids  no  more  shall  droop  with  sorrow, 

And  thy  pale  cheeks  no  longer  tell  thy  pain, 
For  the  roses  they  lost  at  our  parting, 

Shall  come  home  with  our  meeting  again. 
Tis  a  dark,  lonely  night,  gentle  Nellie, 

And  this  world  is  a  drear  wrorld  to  me, 


S9 

As  I  kneel  by  thy  grave,  gentle  Nellie, 

'Neath  the  shadow  of  the  old  linden  tree ; 

They  have  heeded  thy  sorrowful  petition, 

Thy  poor  form  they  have  carried  here  for  me, 

And  mine  own  soon  shall  peacefully  slumber 
By  thy  side,  'neath  the  old  linden  tree. 

CHORUa 

Oh,  Nellie  !  angel  Xellie ! 

Waiting  but  weeping  now  no  longer  here  for  me, 
Soon  our  spirits  shall  smile  as  they  hover 

O'er  our  graves  at  the  old  linden  tree. 


Jessie  Lee, 

Copied   \f   permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music    Publisher, 
481 'Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Loveliness  is  sweetly  beaming 

From  the  azure  of  thine  eyes, 
As  though  quietly  'twas  dreaming 

On  its  seat  in  paradise ; 
For  there's  nothing  more  beguiling, 

E'en  in  Beauty's  charms  to  see, 
Than  the  magic  of  the  smiling 

Of  thy  sweet  look,  Jessie  Lee. 
Chorus — Sweet  Jessie  Lee,  bright  Jessie  Lee, 
Love  is  in  your  eyes, 
As  though  quietly  'twas  dreaming 
On  its  seat  in  paradise 
Tenderness  is  in  each  feature 

Of  thy  fair  and  pleasing  face, 
As  though  Modesty's  own  creature 

Captivates  in  eveiy  grace ; 
For  a  charm  thy  soul's  enriching, 

"Wealthier  than  all  the  sea, 
That  in  beauty  comes  bewitching, 

Through  thy  sweet  looks,  Jessie  Lee.     (Cno.) 


40 

Santa  Olaus. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Old  Santa  Claus  ceases  to  urge  along 

His  fleet-footed  steeds,  with  the  voice  and  thong, 

Well  laden  with  treasures  from  store  and  shop, 

He  hitches  his  team  to  the  chimney  top. 

CHORUS. 

Oh,  Santa  Claus  is  a  clever  old  sprite, 
He  comes  to  the  dear  little  people  by  night ; 
And  never  was  king  with  his  throne  and  crown, 
As   merry  as  he,  when  the  sun  goes  down. 

At  midnight,  when  childhood  in  slumber  seems 
To  gather  sweet  flowers  from  the  land  of  dreams ; 
Then  on  the  roof  of  the  house  he'll  hop, 
And  slyly  descend  from  the  chimney  top.     (Chorus.) 

On  tip-toe  he  stands  on  the  peaceful  spot, 

Where  childhood  reposes  in  crib  or  cot ; 

He  fills  up  the  stocking,  he  crams  the  sock, 

With  candies  and  toys  for  the  household  flock.  (Cho.) 

His  favors  all  scattered,  he  hastens  back, 

The  way  that  he  came — up  the  sooty  track ; 

And  never  his  mission  of  love  shall  stop, 

While  there  is  a  home  with  a  chimney  top.  (Chorus.) 

Now  busy  as  bees  in  their  honeyed  hives, 
The  little  folks  gather  when  morn  arrives  ; 
The  merry  eye  sparkles,  the  sweet  voice  rings, 
As  stockings  are  searched  for  the  wondrous  things. 

They  wonder,  when  bringing  his  dainty  freight, 

He  never  comes  in  by  the  door  or  gate ; 

And  hope  he  will  never  be  forced  to  stop, 

And  die  in  the  smoke  of  the  chimney  top.  (Chobus.) 


41 

All  is  Well  at  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

When  fiir  from  friends  away, 

In  foreign  climes  I  roam, 
How  sweet  to  know,  where'er  I  go, 

That  all  is  well  at  home. 

CHORUS. 

All  is  -well  at  home,  all  is  well  at  home ; 
All  is  well,  all  is  well, 
All  is  well  at  home. 

When  by  the  ocean's  storm, 

The  sea  is  lashed  to  foam, 
How  brief  the  cruise,  when  recent  news 

Has  come  from  distant  home.       (Chorus.) 

Fear  not  the  thunder-stroke, 

Fear  not  the  hidden  rock, 
If  but  one  voice  the  heart  rejoice, 

Then  vain  the  tempest's  shock.     (Chorus.) 

Through  long  and  listless  days, 
Through  watchful  hours  of  night, 

The  heart  still  proves  what  most  it  loves, 
These  tidings  bring  delight.  (Chorus.) 

A  bright  and  cheerful  scene 

Uprises  to  my  view ; 
The  fireside  bright,  on  winter's  night, 

The  loved  home-circle,  too.  (Chorus.) 

Though  dark  and  rough  my  way, 
As  through  the  world  I  roam, 

Oh,  may  Thy  arm,  ftom  every  harm, 

Protect  my  faiMjff  home.  (Chorus.) 


43 


Somebody's  Darling. 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  Bkainard  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
203  Superior  St.,  Cleveland,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Into  a  ward  of  the  whitewashed  walls, 

Where  the  dead  and  the  dying  lay, 
Wounded  by  bayonets,  shells  and  balls, 

Somebody's  darling  was  borne  one  day. 
Somebody's  darling,  so  young  and  so  brave, 

Wearing  yet  on  his  pale,  sweet  face, 
So  soon  to  be  hid  by  the  dust  of  the  grave, 

The  lingering  look  of  his  boyhood's  grace. 

Matted  and  clamp  are  the  curls  of  gold, 

Kissing  the  snow  of  that  fair  young  brow ; 
Pale  are  the  lips  of  delicate  mold, 

Somebody's  darling  is  dying  now. 
Back  from  the  beautiful  blue-veined  brow, 

Brush  all  the  wandering  waves  of  gold ; 
Cross  his  hands  on  his  bosom  now, 

Somebody's  darling  is  still  and  cold. 

Kiss  him  once  for  somebody's  sake, 

Murmur  a  prayer,  soft  and  low  ; 
One  bright  curl  from  its  fair  mates  take, 

They  were  somebody's  pride,  you  know. 
Somebody's  hand  hath  rested  there, 

Was  it  a  mother's  soft  and  white  ? 
Or  have  the  lips  of  a  sister  fair, 

Been  baptized  in  those  waves  of  light  ? 

God  knows  best ;  he  was  somebody's  love, 
Somebody's  heart  hath  enshrined  him  there, 

Somebody's  wafted  his  name  above, 

Night  and  morn  on  the  wings  of  prayer. 


43 


Somebody  wept  when  he  marched  away, 
Looking  so  handsome,  brave  and  grand ; 

Somebody's  kiss  on  his  forehead  lay, 
Somebody  clung  to  his  parting  hand. 

Somebody's  waiting  and  watching  for  him, 

Yearning  to  clasp  him  again  to  her  heart, 
And  there  he  lies,  with  his  blue  eyes  dim, 

And  smiling,  child- like,  lips  apart. 
Tenderly  bury  the  fair  young  dead, 

Pausing  to  drop  on  his  grave  a  tear ; 
Carve  on  the  wooden  slab  at  its  head, 

"  Somebody's  darling  slumbers  here." 


Cushla  Agus  Machree, 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Mnsic  Pnblishers, 
547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

My  true  love  my  heart  in  his  kapeing  has  got, 

He  sthole  it,  but  how,  on  my  soul  I  know  not ; 

It  was  mine  till  your  blarney  I  listened  to,  Shaun ; 

As  your  voice  died  away  it  was  gone. 

The  impijent  rogue  from  my  mind  I  can't  keep, 

For  he  haunts  me  awake  and  he  haunts  me  asleep ; 

Och !  och  !  hone  !     My  heart  will  be  wid  yez  where'er 

ye  may  be ; 

Ay  !  Shaun,  Cushla  Agu    Alachree ! 

How  dearly  I  love  him  the  rogue  surely  knows, 
For  whene'er  he  is  by  my  heart  pit-a-pat  goes, 
And  blushes,  wake  tell-tales,  creep  up  to  my  cheek, 
And  I  cast  down  my  eyes  aud  can't  spake ! 
Oh,  Shaun,  you  are  good,  you  are  gentle  and  bold, 
And  your  heart  is  as  pure  as  tried  silver  and  goold, 
Och  !  och  !  hone  !     My  heart  will  be  wid  yez  where'er 

you  may  be, 
Ay,  Shaun,  Cushla  Agus  Machree. 


44 


My  Beau  that  Went  to  Canada. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers,  67 
Washington  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Not  long  ago  I  had  a.  beau, 

I'll  tell  you  all  I  know  about  him ; 
I've  got  none  now,  and  I  know  how 

To  get  along  as  well  without  him. 
I  used  to  think,  to  hear  him  talk, 

That  not  a  man  on  earth  was  braver, 
But  when  the  drums  began  to  beat, 

He  very  suddenly  grew  graver. 

CHORUS. 

Oh !  Jimmy,  dear,  you  need  not  fear 
That  we  shall  grieve  about  you ; 

The  war  is  done,  the  boys  have  come, 
And  we  can  do  without  you. 

He  used  to  talk,  before  the  war, 

Of  deeds  of  fame,  renown  and  glory; 
But  when  he  heard  the  cannon's  roa?, 

He  did  not  like  the  martial  story. 
He  had  no  taste  for  scenes  of  strife — 

He  proved  himself  a  first-rate  quaker, 
And  when  they  talked  about  a  draft, 

He  found  himself  a  very  shaker.       (Chorus.) 

He  said  that  he  was  forty-six, 

Or  else  that  he  was  only  twenty ; 
But  Uncle  Samuel  knew  the  tricks 

Of  all  such  youths,  and  they  were  plenty 
So  Uncle  Sam  he  gave  a  wink 

That  shook  my  Jimmy  to  the  center, 
And  soon  as  he  began  to  think, 

He  started  further  north  instanter.    (Chorus.) 


45 


Somewhere  across  the  line  to-day, 

Perhaps  of  me  this  youth  is  thinking ; 
If  this  is  so,  I'll  only  ray 

That  Uncle  Sam  is  still  a-winking. 
And  should  he  backward  sneak  again, 

At  sneaking  he  has  proved  so  handy, 
We'll  give  the  child  what  he  deserves — 

Something  that's  not  so  good  as  Can'da.  (Cho.) 


The  Green  Shenandoah, 

Copied  by  permission  of  Olivf.r  Ditsox  &  Co..  Music  Pnbliihere, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  oi'  the  copyright. 

The  fierce  din  of  battle  is  now  hushed  to  rest, 
Yet  sad  is  the  sorrow  that  preys  on  my  breast, 
For  wild  winds  are  sighing  o'er  wavelets  that  flow 
Where  my  lost  love  is  lying,  in  green  Shenandoah, 
cnoitus. 
The  sweet  joys  I  dreamed  of  I  never  shall  know, 
For  my  heart's  in  his  grave,  in  green  Shenandoah. 

The  glad  smile  of  summer  is  crowning,  again, 
"With  rich,  balmy  radiance,  the  valley  and  plain, 
Where  he  fell  like  a  soldier,  while  charging  the  foe, 
'Neath  our  own  starry  banner,  in  green  Shenandoah. 

Oh !  howT  proudly,  how  fondly,  I  clung  to  his  side, 
With  the  strong  hope  at  parting  of  yet  being  his  bride ; 
But  the  true  heart  that  won  me  is  now  lying  low, 
All  lifeless  and  cold,  in  green  Shenandoah. 

Tin  weaving  a  garland  to  twine  round  his  grave, 
Where  the  sunlight  is  kissing  the  mounds  of  the  brave, 
There  sad  tears  still  lighten  my  heart's  bitter  woe, 
As  they  fall  o'er  my  darling  in  famed  Shenandoah. 


46 

My  Mother  did  so  Before  Me. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I  am  a  gay  and  lively  lass, 

A  little  more  than  twenty, 
And  by  my  comely  air  and  dress, 

Sweethearts  I  can  have  plenty ; 
But  I'll  beware  of  wedlock's  snare, 

Though  dying  swains  adore  me, 
The  men  I'll  tease,  myself  to  please, 

My  mother  did  so  before  me — 
The  men  I'll  tease,  myself  to  please, 

My  mother  did  so  before  me. 

To  balls  and  concerts  oft  I  go, 

To  spend  each  leisure  hour, 
I'd  walk  and  talk  with  every  beau, 

And  make  them  feel  my  power ; 
But  if  a  dart  should  pierce  my  heart, 

From  one  that  should  adore  me, 
We'll  wed  and  kiss,  what  harm  is  this? 

My  mother  did  so  before  me — 
"We'll  wed  and  kiss,  what  harm  is  this? 

My  mother  did  so  before  me. 

How  will  I  manage,  when  I  wed, 

My  husband  to  perfection ! 
For  as  good  wives  have  often  said — 

Keep  husbands  in  subjection ; 
No  snarling  fool  shall  o'er  me  rule, 

Or  e'er  eclipse  my  glory, 
I'll  let  him  see  I'll  mistress  be, 

My  mother  did  so  before  me — 
I'll  let  him  see  I'll  mistress  be, 

My  mother  did  so  before  me. 


The  Unknown  Heroes. 

Copied  bv  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  will  no  one  sing  the  heroes 

Heaped  in  thousands  slain, 
As  they  fell  with  glory  fighting 

On  the  battle  plain  ? 
Are  they  now  to  be  forgotten, 

In  their  crimson  graves  ? 
Land  they  fought  for,  bled  for,  died  for, 

Sing  you  not  your  braves  ?  - 

CHORUS. 

Strike  the  saddest  chords  of  music, 

For  the  heroes  gone ; 
Sing  them  softly,  hearts  that  loved  them, 

In  your  sweetest  song — 
Sing  them  softly,  hearts  that  loved  them, 

In  }Tour  sweetest  song. 

Hearths  are  cold  and  hearts  are  lonely, 

That  were  warm  and  gay, 
But  the  forms  that  made  them  happy, 

Where  are  they  to-day  ? 
Dead  beneath  the  turf  they  fought  on, 

Flowers  alone  to  tell, 
With  their  rank  and  florid  beauty, 

Where  in  death  they  fell.  (Chorus.) 

For  the"  great  in  combat  fallen, 

Fame  forever  smiles  : 
Mournful  dirges,  swelling  grandly, 

Flood  the  dreamy  aisles ; 
But  for  those  we  parted  weeping, 

At  our  humble  door, 
Sighs  and  tears,  im  gloom  and  silence, 

Mingle  evermore.  (Chorus.) 


48 

The  School  of  Jolly  Dogs. 

There  is  a  school  of  jolly  dogs, 

I've  lately  come  across ; 
They're  game  for  any  mortal  thing, 

From  this*  to  pitch  and  toss. 

CHORUS. 

And  they  always  seem  so  jolly  oh  ! 

Wherever  they  may  be ; 
They  dance,  they  sing,  they  laugh,  ha,  ha, 

What  jolly  dogs  are  we  ! 
Fal  la  la,  fal  la  la,  fal  la  la, 
Slap,  bang,  here  we  are  again. 
What  jolly  dogs  are  we. 

They  meet  each  night  at  six  o'clock, 

And  then  sit  down  to  dine ; 
They  put  the  courses  out  of  sight, 

And  then  they  take  their  wine.     (Chorus.) 

At  eight  o'clock  they  sally  forth, 

Because,  you  know,  it's  dark ; 
"  Follow  my  leader,"  cries  the  chief, 

"  To-night  we'll  have  a  lark."       (Chorus.) 

To  balls,  or  hops,  of  course  they  go, 

And  each  man  does  his  weed; 
They  stick  by  one  another,  as 

They've  previously  agreed.  (Chorus.) 

Spring-heel  Jack,  and  all  his  pals, 

With  their  nocturnal  larks, 
I'm  sure  were  not  a  patch  upon 

This  school  of  modern  sparks.     (Chorus.) 
*  Sparring  attitude. 


49 


They  Have  Broken  Up  their  Camps. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

They  have  broken  up  their  camps, 
They  are  laughing  o'er  their  tramps, 
They  are  gladly  greeting  friends  who  flocked  around 
them  ; 
They  have  left  the  scanty  fare, 
They  have  left  the  tainted  air, 
For  they've  dashed  to  earth  the  prison  wall  that  bound 
them. 

CHORUS. 

They  are  coming  from  the  wars, 

With  their  wounds  and  with  their  scars ; 
But  they're  bringing  back  the  dear  old  flag  in  glory — 

They  have  battled  long  and  well ; 

And  let  after  ages  tell 
How  they  won  the  proudest  name  in  song  and  story. 

We  are  eager  with  our  thanks, 

We  are  pressing  on  their  ranks, 
We  are  grasping  hands  that  held  the  States  unbroken  ; 

Yet  we  sadly  think  of  those 

Who  have  fallen  'mid  their  foes, 
And  the  welcome  that  we  give  is  sadly  spoken. 

Oh,  the  long  delay  is  past, 

They  have  brought  us  peace  at  last ; 
And   how  proudly  through  our  veins  the  blood   is 
bounding, 

As  we  bless  our  honored  dead, 

While  the  steady  martial  tread 
Of  returning  legions  in  our  ears  is  sounding. 


50 

The  First  Kiss  at  the  Garden  Gate. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music   Publisher, 
481  Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

You  remember,  Nelly  darling, 

"When  I  breathed  my  vows  to  thee, 
On  a  mellow  autumn  evening, 

'Neath  the  spreading  maple  tree ; 
How  I  reveled  in  your  love-glance, 

Wishing  for  no  happier  fate, 
How  soul-thrilled  was  I  when  stealing 

Young  love's  first  kiss  at  the  gate, 
How  soul-thrilled  was  I  when  stealing 

Young  love's  first  kiss  at  the  gate. 

And  I  swept  the  raven  ringlets 

From  thy  brow  as  pure  as  snow, 
And  your  lips  breathed  back  the  love  vows, 

Sweet  as  rippling  brooklets  flow ; 
Fragrant  breathed  the  zephyrs  o'er  us, 

As  beneath  the  bowers  we  sate, 
Music  murmuring  o'er  the  waters, 

Hushed  the  first  kiss  at  the  gate, 
Music  murmuring  o'er  the  waters, 

Hushed  the  first  kiss  at  the  gate. 

But  'tis  naught  now  but  a  memory 

Of  the  happy  days  of  yore, 
For  my  darling,  cold,  lies  sleeping, 

Lost  to  me  forevermore  ; 
But  from  heaven  her  soul's  pure  brightness 

Beam:*,  the  guide-star  of  my  fate, 
And  I'm  d  reaming,  sadly  dreaming, 

Of  the  first  kiss  at  the  gate, 
And  I'm  dreaming,  sadly  dreaming, 

Of  the  first  kiss  at  the  gate. 


51 


Just  as  of  Old. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Skp.  Winner  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
933  Spring  Garden  St.,  Philadelphia,  ONvners  of  the  copyright. 

Just  as  of  old,  the  moments  come  and  go, 
The  spring  with  its  flowers  and  the  winter  with  its  snow, 
The  hours  pass  away,  the  seasons  warm  and  cold, 
And  time  rolls  along  to-day  just  as  of  old. 
But  ah !  how  we  change, 

As  years  come  on  anew, 
The  heart  grows  strange, 

That  once  was  kind  and  true; 
And  dear  friends  part, 

As  others  pass  away, 
And  sadly  sighs  the  weary  heart 
Day  after  day. 

CHORUS. 

But  just  as  of  old,  the  moments  come  and  go, 
The  spring  with  its  flowers  and  the  winter  with  its  snow, 
The  hours  pass  away,  the  seasons  warm  and  cold, 
And  time  rolls  along  to-day  just  as  of  old 

Just  as  of  old,  the  many  stars  appear, 
And  greet  us  again,  as  in  some  forgotten  year ; 
The  flowers  bloom  anew,  and  rivers  ever  flow, 
Just  as  they  did  in  days  of  old — long,  long  ago. 
But  why  should  we  sigh, 

When  hoping  for  the  best  ? 
As  years  roll  by, 

The  heart  will  find  its  rest ; 
But  hope  soon  dies, 

And  sorrow  holds  her  sway, 
For  many  that  we  learn  to  prize 

Soon  pass  away.  (Choivcs.) 


52 


Our  Grandfathers'  Days. 

Copied  by  permission  oi^Dliter  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

A  song  for  to  please  all  iny  kind  friends  before  me, 

I've  been  thinking  of  late  a  new  subject  to  raise, 
And  one  I  have  got  and  I  know  it  will  please  you, 

Tin  going  to  sing  of  our  Grandfathers'  days. 
In  our  Grandfathers'  days  men  were  judged  of  by  merit, 

And  those  who  were  sound  got  their  measure  of 
praise, 
But  nowadays,  folks  judge  of  men  by  their  money, 

That  wasn't  the  case  in  our  Grandfathers'  days. 

In  our  Grandfathers'  days  they  had  no  patent  leathers, 

Garrote  choking  collars  or  no  peg-top  pants, 
Young  men  didn't  go  it  with  two-forty  horses, 

Or  visit  young  ladies  at  night  at  a  dance. 
The  boys  didn't  then  congregate  on  the  corners, 

To  see  the  girls  crossing  on  wet  slushy  days, 
Nor  the  gals  didn't  want  a  policeman  to  help  them, 

That  wasn't  the  case  in  our  Grandfathers'  days. 

In  our  Grandfathers'  days  billiard  markers  ne'er  sported 

Mustache  on  their  lips,  or  goatees  on  their  chins, 
Nor  sixpenny  barbers  drive  out  in  light  wagons, 

Nor  did  railroad  conductors  wear  diamond  pins. 
The  gals  didn't  paint,  stuff  themselves  up  with  cotton, 

They  didn't  wear  hoops,  patent  bustles,  or  stays, 
Didn't  smoke  cigarettes,  or  drink  sherry-cobblers, 

That  wasn't  the  style  in  our  Grandfathers'  days. 

In  our  Grandfathers'  days  when  a  man  ran  for  office, 
He  did  it  alone  for  the  national  good, 

And  not  for  the  dollars  and  cents  he  might  pocket, 
That's  something  which  nowadays  ain't  understood. 


53 


The  government  then  was  for  wisdom  selected, 
Rebellion  had  not  set  the  country  ablaze, 

But  the  people  have  sworn  that  our  flag  shall  float  over 
The  Union  as  t'was  in  our  Grandfathers'  days. 


Little  Tad. 


Copied  bypermisBion  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher*, 
277  \\  ashington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

God  bless  the  little  orphan  boy, 

A  father's  darling  pride, 
May  heaven  guard  his  youthful  form, 

And  be  his  hope  and  guide ; 
May  that  pure  love  and  honest  worth 

"Which  filled  his  parent's  heart, 
Be  his  inheritance  in  life, 

The  good  and  generous  part. 

Bereft  of  a  fond  father's  love, 

And  his  paternal  care, 
"Without  his  sacred  teachings, 

Or  his  warm,  devoted  prayer; 
Oh !  earth  must  seem  so  dreary  now 

To  that  dear,  orphan  child — 
How  he  will  miss  the  loving  one, 

That  so  oft  on  him  smiled. 

But  yet  there's  left  a  mother's  love, 

To  watch  his  youthful  years, 
For  them  a  nation's  sympathy, 

For  them  a  nation's  tears  ; 
Columbia  never  can  forget 

The  kindred  of  her  friend, 
And  for  the  little  orphan  boy 

E'er  will  her  love  extend. 


54 

Father's  Come  Home. 

[A  Sequel  to  "Come  Home,  Father."] 
Yes,  Mary,  my  Mary,  your  father's  come  home, 

You  Waited  through  all  the  long  night ; 
He  was  deaf  to  your  pleadings,  for  reason  was  drowned, 

But  oh !  it  came  back  with  the  light. 
It  seems  like  a  dream,  oh  !  a  terrible  dream, 

But,  alas  !  now  I  know  it  was  true ; 
Poor  Benny  is  dead,  but  your  father's  come  home, 

Dear  Mary,  to  mother  and  you. 

CHORUS. 

©h !  no  more  through  the  dark,  weary  hours, 

Little  Mary  in  sadness  shall  roam ; 
Ah !  how  glad  to  her  ears  are  the  words  which  she 
hears — 

Dear  Mary,  your  "  father's  come  home." 

Please,  Mary,  tell  mother  that  "  father's  come  home," 

And  kneels  by  our  little  boy's  bed ; 
And  he  prays  for  God's  help,  that  the  husband  may  fill 

The  place  of  the  boy  that  is  dead. 
And  say,  though  he  left  her  forsaken  to  weep, 

All  alone  to  bear  sorrow  and  pain, 
He'll  never  more  cause  her  a  pang  or  a  tear, 

If  once  she  will  trust  him  again. 

CHORUS. 

Oh  !  no  more  shall  the  wife  watch  and  weep, 
All  in  vain  for  the  loved  one  to  come ; 

And  all  gone  are  her  fears,  as  the  message  she  hears, 
Tell  mother  that  "  father's  come  home." 

Yes,  Mary,  tell  mother  that  father  has  left 
The  drink  that  has  made  him  so  bad  ] 

You  can  say  he  has  taken  the  Temperance  Pledge, 
I  know  it  will  make  her  heart  glad. 


-J 


And  tell  her  he  waits  to  clasp  mother  and  child, 

And  vow  on  his  knees  to  be  true  ; 
For  father's  come  home  to  his  reason  at  length, 

Dear  Mary,  to  mother  and  you. 
chorus. 
Oh  !  no  more  to  the  mother  and  child, 

Shall  the  night  black  and  desolate  come  ; 
For  the  fire  shall  be  bright,  and  their  hearts  shall  be 
light, 

While  saying,  dear  "  father's  come  home.'' 


One  by  One. 


Gopied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers,  95 
Clark  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

One  by  one  the  sands  are  flowing, 

One  by  one  the  moments  fall ; 
Some  are  coming,  some  are  going, 

Do  not  strive  to  grasp  them  all. 
One  by  one  thy  duties  call  thee, 

Let  thy  whole  strength  go  to  each; 
Let  not  future  dreams  elate  thee, 

Learn  thou  first  what  these  can  teach, 

Learn  thou  first  what  these  can  teach. 

One  by  one  bright  gifts  from  heaven, 

Joys  are  sent  thee  here  below ; 
Take  them  readily  when  given, 

Ready,  too,  to  let  them  go. 
Do  not  look  at  life-long  sorrow, 

See  how  small  each  moment's  pain; 
God  will  keep  thee  for  to-morrow, 

So  each  day  begin  again. 

So  each  day  begin  again. 


56 


Nancy's  Waterfall. 

Copied  bvperraission  of  Oliver  Ditsox&  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

There's  songs  about  most  every  thing 

That  one  could  name  or  call, 
But  until  this,  none  has  been  wrote 

About  the  "  Waterfall !" 
Chorus — Oh,  Nancy's  Waterfall ! 

It  looks  so  very  fine, 
It  hangs  so  graceful  on  her  neck, 

She  almost  seems  divine  ! 

Niagara,  and  all  the  falls 

That  ever  I  did  see, 
Can  not  compare  with  Nancy's  hair, 

It  look's  so  splendidly  !  (Chorus.) 

A  Roman  said,  "  Oh  !  what  a  fall 

Was  there,  my  countrymen !" 
Were  he  alive  to  see  our  girls, 

He'd  say  as  he  did  then  !  (Chorus.) 

What  next  the  girls  will  wear  about 

I'm  sure  I  can  not  tell, 
With  rats  and  mice  they  fill  their  hair, 

So  goes  the  modern  belle,  (Chorus.) 

But  Nancy  is  a  charming  girl, 

She's  so  genteel  and  tall, 
Whene'er  you  meet  her  on  the  street, 

Just  twig  her  Waterfall ! 

Chorus — Oh,  Nancy's  Waterfall ! 
It  looks  so  very  fine, 
It  hangs  so  graceful  on  her  neck, 
She  almost  seems  divine. 


57 


Marching  Through  Georgia. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers, 
95  Clark  street.  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Bring  the  good  old  bugle,  boys !  we'll  sing  another  song- 
Sing  it  with  that  spirit  that  will  start  the  world  along — 
Sing  it  as  we  used  to  sing  it  fifty  thousand  strong, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

CHORUS. 

"  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !   we  bring  the  Jubilee  ! 

Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  the  flag  that  makes  you  free  !" 
So  we  sung  the  chorus  from  Atlanta  to  the  sea, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 
How  the  darkies  shouted  when  they  heard  the  joy- 
ful sound  ! 
How  the  turkeys  gobbled  which  our  commissary  found  ! 
How  the  sweet  potatoes  even  started  from  the  ground, 

While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 
Yes,  and  there  were  Union  men  who  wept  with  joy- 
ful tears, 
When  they  saw  the  honored  flag  they  had  not  seen 

for  years  ; 
Hardly  could  they  be  restrained  from  breaking  forth 
in  cheers, 
While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 
*  Sherman's  dashing  Yankee  boys  will  never  reach  the 

coast  r 
So  the  saucy  rebels  said,  and  'twas  a  handsome  boast, 
Had  they  not  forgot,  alas !  to  reckon  with  the  host, 

While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 

So  we  made  a  thoroughfare  for  Freedom  and  her  train, 

Sixty  miles  in  latitude — three  hundred  to  the  main ; 

Treason  fled  before  us,  fbr  resistance  was  in  vain, 

While  we  were  marching  through  Georgia. 


Constantinople. 

^-  -  :>--:   ^  :  -  ~  :--•:■" :  -;r  -•  -^-~ 

l:   i-..:-.~\i  -  : 

And  listen  to  mr  taie  of  woe, 

T:":;:  I  7  r   r_ :--  ~  : "  *      :  " : f  7 :  _  : 
I  kmged  to  be  a  soldier's  bride, 

-  heart  there  burnt  ambition's  flame, 
For  I  loved  a  gay  ronng  Colonel,  who 


Constantinople  the  Coiooel  came. 
f^TT* — C-o-n,  with  a  Con,  s-t-a-n,  with  a  Stan, 
With  a  Con-stan.  M,  with  a  Con-stan-ti, 
with  m  no,  with  a  Coo-stan-ti-oo, 

I  met  the  Colonel  at  a  hall, 

7     nmli     -  1  1  1 
Upon  hie  knees  the  yonth  did  Ml, 
.  - 

in**. 
And  begyd  that  I  would  bear  his  name, 
I  accepted  the  yowsr  Colonel,  who 

Wf  informal, 

T 

I  soon  fennd  he  a  swindler  was, 

i  ton*  had  earned  on  that  game, 
And  so  I  lost  my  Colonel,  who 


59 


Sing,  Birdie,  Sing." 


Sing,  birdie,  sing,  and  let  thy  song 

Be  of  this  earth  so  bright,  so  bright; 
Sing,  birdie,  sing,  thy  notes  prolong 

Till  day  glides  into  night,  till  day  glides  into  night. 
Chorus — Be,  birdie,  thy  lays,  in  sweet  nature's  praise  ; 
Sing,  birdie,  sing ;  sing,  birdie,  sing. 

Sing,  birdie,  sing,  where  the  mountains  glow 
With  blushes  to  meet  day's  king,  day's  king, 

Sing,  birdie,  sing,  where  the  waters  flow, 

And  murmuring  praises  ring,  and  murmuring  praises 
ring. 

Sing,  birdie,  sing,  till  time's  no  more, 

Sing  until  thy  little  life  ends ; 
Thou  never  canst  give  to  nature's  store 

Meet  praise  for  the  gifts,  for  the  gifts  she  sends. 


The  Nightingale's  Trill.* 

Nightingale,  Nightingale,  trill  thou  thy  lay, 
Shadows  are  stealing  o'er  the  bright  day ; 
Nightingale,  Nightingale,  why  is  thy  voice 
Ne'er  in  the  sunshine  ueard  to  rejoice  ? 

CHORUS. 

But  be  it  by  day,  or  at  eve,  as  you  will, 
Song-bird  of  night,  I  would  hear  thy  sweet  trill. 

Nightingale,  nightingale,  lov'st  thou  eve's  star, 
Shining  so  brightly  in  regions  so  far  ? 
Nightingale,  Nightingale,  for  its  pure  ray, 
Pour  fourth  thy  praises  till  dawn  of  day.        (Cho.) 
*  Sung  by  Mdlle.  Parepa. 


60 


The  Midnight  Bugle. 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  Brainard  &  Son.  Music  Publishers, 
203  Superior  St.,  Cleveland,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

'Tis  night !  the  sun  has  sunk  to  rest 

Beneath  the  western  Mil, 
The  stars,  like  thoughtful  eyes  look  down 

And  all  is  calm  and  still ; 
The  soldier,  weary  with  his  march, 

Lies  sleeping  on  the  ground, 
But  waking  from  his  dreams  he  hears 

The  midnight  bugle  sound. 

CHORUS. 

Rouse  ye,  rouse,  warriors  in  your  might, 

Hark  !  hear  the  bugle  !  hark  !  hear  the  bugle  I 
Hear  the  sound,  'tis  the  signal  for  the  fight. 

The  stillness  breaks — the  very  air 

Seems  bursting  into  life, 
And  warriors  brave  and  prancing  steei 

Are  marshaling  for  the  strife  ; 
By  countless  thousands,  rushing  like 

Some  wild  impetuous  wave, 
In  answer  to  that  warning  note, 

The  midnight  bugle  sound.  (Chorus.) 

The  morrow's  sun  shall  light  the  field 

Where  friend  and  foe  must  fall, 
To-morrow's  evening  stars  shall  weep 

Above  the  sulphury  pall ; 
While  many  brave  hearts,  cold  and  still, 

Lie  sleeping  on  the  ground, 
Wh©  ne'er  again  shall  wake  to  hear 

The  midnight  bugle  sound.  (Chorus.) 


61 


A  Cushla  G-al  Mochree. 

Copied  bv  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Cbn  Music  Publishers, 
277  \V  ashington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

My  Fanny  dear,  ray  Fanny  dear, 

The  blackbird  on  yon  bough 
Trills  to  his  mate  his  warbling  notes, 

As  sweet  as  lover's  vow  ; 
And  here  my  heart  pours  out  its  tale 

Of  love  and  truth  to  thee, 
Thou  fairest  of  dear  Erin's  maids, 

My  Fanny  dear,  my  Fanny  dear, 
Acushla  gal  mochree. 


My  Fanny  dear,  my  Fanny  dear, 

Though  suitors  round  thee  press, 
And  seek  to  win  thee  from  the  arma 

Which  only  should  caress ; 
Yet,  still  I  know  thou  constant  art, 

As  constancy  can  be, 
Thou  fairest  of  dear  Erin's  maids, 

My  Fanny  dear,  my  Fanny  dear, 
Acushla  gal  mochree. 

My  Fanny  dear,  my  Fanny  dear, 

No  chilling  wind  that  blows 
Shall  blight  the  tender  bud  of  hope 

That  in  my  bosom  grows ; 
The  hope  that  Erin  yet  shall  stand 

Among  earth's  nations  free, 
The  hope  I  cherish  for  thy  sake, 

My  Fanny  dear,  my  Fanny  dear, 
Acushla  gal  mochree. 


62 


The  Fields  of  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Root  &  Cadt,  Music  Publishers,  95 
Clark  street,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  fields  of  home,  the  merry  fields, 

Where  waved  the  golden  corn ; 
What  joy  their  glowing  rnem'ry  yields, 

'Twas  here  that  I  was  born. 
Along  their  side  the  river  wound, 
With  sweet  and  rippling  flow, 
And  near  it  was  the  old  play-ground 
We  cherished  years  ago. 
Chorus — The  fields  of  home,  the  merry  fields, 
Where  waved  the  golden  corn, 
What  joy  their  glowing  mem'ry  yields, 
'Twas  there  that  I  was  born. 

The  fields  of  home,  I  roved  them  o'er, 

With  gentle  ones  11  ow  gone, 
When  life  had  blissful  hopes  in  store, 

And  pleasure  round  us  shone. 
The  rosy  days — how  fast  they  fledl 

Alas !  I  sadly  roam, 
And  many  were  the  tears  I  shed, 

To  leave  the  fields  of  home.  (Chorus.) 

The  fields  of  home,  where  oft  I  heard 

The  farmer's  cheery  song, 
As  gay  as  voice  of  morning  bird, 

While  sped  the  plow  along. 
My  bosom  fondly  yearns  to  see 

Each  blooming  hill  and  plain, 
To  lie  beneath  some  balmy  tree, 

And  be  a  child  again.  {Chorus.) 


63 


Jimmy's  Wooing, 

Copied  by  permission  oi  Root  &  Cady,  Music  Publishers,  95 
Chirk  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  wind  came  blowing  out  of  the  west, 

As  Jimmy  mowed  the  hay ; 
The  wind  came  blowing  out  of  the  west, 
It  stirred  the  leaflets  from  their  rest, 
And  rocked  the  blue-bird  up  in  his  nest, 

As  Jimmy  mowed  the  hay. 
The  swallows  skimmed  along  the  ground, 

And  Jimmy  mowed  the  hay ; 
The  swallows  skimmed  along  the  ground, 
And  rustling  leaves  made  pleasant  sound, 
Like  children  laughing  all  around, 

As  Jimmy  mowed  the  hay. 
Sweet  Milly  came  with  basket  by, 

And  Jimmy  mowed  the  hay ; 
Sweet  Milly  came  with  basket  by, 
With  little  feet  so  trim  and  sly, 
And  sunburnt  cheek  and  laughing  eye, 

As  Jimmy  mowed  the  hay. 
Oh,  neat  was  she  in  linsey  gown, 

And  Jimmy  mowed  the  hay ; 
Oh,  neat  was  she  in  linsey  gown, 
He  watched  her  soft  cheek's  changing  brown, 
And  lashes  dark  that  trembled  down, 

Whene'er  he  looked  that  way. 
Oh,  Milly's  heart  was  good  as  gold, 

And  Jimmy  mowed  the  hay  ; 
Oh,  Milly's  heart  was  good  as  gold, 
But  Jimmy  thought  her  shy  and  cold, 
And  more  he  thought  than  e'er  he  told, 

As  still  he  mowed  the  hay. 


64 


The  rain  came  pattering  down  amain, 

As  Jimmy  mowed  the  hay ; 
The  rain  came  pattering  down  amain, 
And  'neath  the  thatch  of  the  laden  train 
They  sat,  a  blushing,  happy  twain, 

All  sheltered  by  the  hay. 

The  merry  raindrops  hurried  in 

Beneath  the  thatch  of  hay; 
The  merry  raindrops  hurried  in, 
And  laughed  and  pattered  in  a  din, 
O'er  all  the  joy  they  saw  within, 

Beneath  the  thatch  of  hay. 

For  Milly  nestled  on  his  breast, 

Beneath  the  thatch  of  hay ; 
For  Milly  nestled  on  his  breast, 
Her  happy  heart  had  found  its  rest, 
And  Jimmy  knew  she  loved  him  best, 

While  resting  'neath  the  hay. 

And  when  the  sun  came  laughing  out 

Upon  the  thatch- of  hay; 
And  when  the  sun  came  laughing  out, 
Were  quickly  scattered  mist  and  doubt, 
And  gayly  sung  the  birds'  about: 

"  There'll  be  a  wedding-day." 


THE    ENI>. 


BEADLE'S 


Song1  Book 


]STo.  18 


▲  COLLECTION*  OF  NEW  AND  POPULAR 


COMIC  AND  SENTIMENTAL 


BEADLE    .AJNTD    CO^IPANY, 
NEW    YORK:    118    WILLIAM    STREET. 

GENERAL   DIME   BOOK  PUBLISHERS. 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE. 

The  muaic,  with  pianoforte  arrangement,  of  any  of  the 
songs  in  Beadle's  Dime  Song  Books,  can  be  obtained  of,  or 
ordered  through,  any  regular  News  or  Periodical  dealer ;  or 
may  be  procured  direct  of  the  publishers,  whose  names 
and  address  are  attached  to  many  of  the  pieces. 

Beadle  and  Company. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866, 

By  BEADLE  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States 

for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


(S.  B.  18.) 


CONTENTS  No.  18. 


PAGE. 

An  hour  at  Central  Park, 8 

Be  kind  to  darling  sister  Nell,    -        ...  12 

Before  I  was  married,  oh,  dear,      -        -        -        -  31 

"  Bring  me  a  pretty  bouquet,"  25 

Can  there  be  harm  in  kissing  ?               -        -        -  41 

Come,  draw  your  chair  beside  me,  49 

Come  from  afar, 15 

Dark-eyed  one, 29 

Dear  father,  drink  no  more,    -        -        - .      -        -  19 

Don't  marry  a  man  if  he  drinks,  -        -        -        -  64 

Evening,    * 27 

Evening  boat  song, 44 

Faithless  Nelly, 21 

Father's  come  to  bless  us, 45 

He  vowed  he  never  would  leave  me,     -        -        -  24 

Hearts  and  homes, 48 

I'm  thinking,  John,  of  that  sweet  time,  5 

Janet's  bridal, 37 

Kiss  me  while  I'm  dreaming, 55 

Loved  ones  at  home, 40 

Merry  marriage  bells, 58 

Mill  May, 20 

Mother  is  going  home, 23 

My  bonnie  boat, 62 

My  trundle  bed, 52 

Oh,  would  I  were  a  fly, 10 

Only  waiting, 48 

Our  country  girls, 42 

Please,  father,  don't  drink  any  more,  6 

See,  the  conquering  hero  comes,  53 

ShylieBawn, -59 

Sleep,  my  dear  one, 51 

Slumber,  my  darling, 35 

Solon  Shingle, 38 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Some  one  is  waiting  for  me, 32 

Sooner  or  later, 36 

Song  of  a  bachelor, 22 

Song  of  conundrums, 54 

Strictly  confidential, 16 

a  The  boys  that  wear  the  green,"        -  9 

"  The  Finnigins," 33 

The  little  blue-eyed  boy, 63 

The  lost  one, 18 

The  patter  of  the  rain, 14 

The  wandering  boy  from  home,  7 

There's  only  room  for  two,  30 

Times  hab  badly  change',  ole  massa,      -                -  50 

Told  in  the  twilight, 56 

Trip  lightly, 57 

Wait,  my  little  one,  wait, 13 

We'll  go  with  Grant  again,    -        -  [     -        -        -  28 

Will  you  love  me  then,  darling  ?  34 

Yankee  wonders, 46 

Yohn  Schmidt,    -                60 

Your  mission, 26 


BEADLE'S 

DIME  SONG  BOOK  No.  18. 


CELEBRATED  RAILROAD  SONG. 

I'm  Thinking,  John,  of  that  Sweet  Time, 

Copied  by  permission  of  H.  M.  Higgins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  Stieet.  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Tin  thinking,  John,  of  that  sweet  time, 

When  you  and  I  were  boys, 

A-looking  up  life's  railway  track, 

All  spanned  with  rosy  joys; 

Full  well  do  I  remember,  John, 

The  morning  long  ago, 

We  found  ourselves  on  board  the  train, 

And  thought  the  time  was  slow. 

Chorus — We've  reached  the  summit  level,  John, 

And  now  go  down  the  grade, 

With  shortened  stroke  and  swifter  speed 

Than  any  we  have  made. 

And  looking  forward  eagerly, 

To  the  happy  moments  when 
We'd  reached  the  station  twenty-one — 

No  longer  boys,  but  men ; 
We  reached  it  long  ago,  dear  John, 

The  brakeman  did  not  call  ; 
No  bell  was  rung  or  whistle  blown — 
There  was  no  place  at  all. 
Chorus — And  many  who  came  out  with  us, 
In  the  morning,  long  ago, 
Have  changed  and  took  the  lightning  line, 
And  reached  the  Great  Depot. 


Please  Father  Don't  Drink  any  More. 

[companion  to  "come  home,  father."] 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  Brainard  &  Sons,  Music  Publishers, 
203  Superior  Street,  Cleveland,  Ohio,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  father,  father,  why  linger  away, 

From  those  who  would  welcome  you  home  ? 
Poor  mother,  and  Mary,  arid  Bennie  so  frail, 

Are  waiting,  and  praying  you'll  come. 
Dear  Mother — oh,  yes  !  I  hear  his  step  now, 

Uncertain  and  slow  in  his  pace ; 
Go  quickly,  my  child  !  I  know  by  his  groan — 

Your  father  just  fell  at  the  gate  ! 

CHORUS. 

Oh,  father,  dear  father,  why  linger  away, 
From  those  who  would  welcome  you  home  ? 

Poor  mother,  and  Mary,  and  Bennie  so  frail, 
Are  waiting  and  praying  you'll  come. 

The  fire  burns  low  on  the  old  stone  hearth, 

The  cabin  is  damp  and  chill, 
The  drunkard's  lone  wife  finds  comfort  in  thought, 

And  utters,  "  oh,  God,  thy  will  /" 
The  little  ones  nestle  close  by  her  side, 

Save  one  whose  mission  is  o'er, 
Whose  life-latest  breath  was  spent  in  the  prayer, 

Please,  father,  don't  drink  any  more.    (Chorus.) 

How  oft  the  child,  in  his  pleading  words, 

Sought  father's  return  in  fear, 
But  touched  was  the  chord,  long  silent,  unstrung, 

The  hardened  heart  melted  to  tears ; 
The  drunkard  was  roused,  and  firmly  resolved, 

As  he  heard  from  that  distant  shore, 
The  voice  of  his  boy  in  echo  return, 

Please,  father,  don't  drink  any  more.    (Chorus.) 


The  wife  of  sorrow  and  care  looks  bright, 

How  happy  the  children  are  ? 
Now  dear  are  the  joys  and  comforts  of  home, 

Since  father  renewed  his  vow ; 
How  tempting  the  wine-cup,  bitter  the  scorn, 

Of  those  who  seek  to  gain  o'er, 
But,  hark!  'tis  the  voice  of  Bennie  he  hears, 

Please,  father,  don't  drink  any  more.  (Chorus.) 


The  Wandering  Boy  from  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson,  &  Co.,  Music  Publish- 
ers, 2T7  Washington  Street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Years  have  passed  since  last  we  met, 

Sinee  we  parted  at  the  door, 
Mother,  do  you  love  me  still, 

Do  you  love  me  as  of  yore  ? 
Do  you  sometimes  think  of  me, 

Am  I  still  your  hope  and  joy  ? 
Tell,  oh,  tell  me,  whispering  winds, 
Does  my  mother  love  her  boy  ? 
Chorus — Mother,  gentle  mother, 

Speak,  and  nil  my  soul  with  joy — 
Mother,  gentle  mother, 

Do  you  love  your  wandering  boy  ? 

Have  you  changed  since  I  have  left, 

Since  you  wept  that  last  good-by  ? 
Mother,  shall  we  meet  again, 

Will  you  bless  me,  ere  I  die  ? 
Tell  me,  happy  birds  of  song, 

Fill  this  aching  heart  with  joy, 
When  shall  I  my  mother  see, 

Smiling  on  her  wandering  boy  ?    (Chorus.) 


An  Hour  at  Central  Park. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Thad.  Firth,  (sue.  to  Firth,  Son  &  Co.) 
Music  Publisher,  663  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owner  of  copyright. 

One  summer  evening,  one  moonlight  evening, 

All  thoughts  of  care  they  did  depart, 
And  while  at  leasure  we  sought  our  pleasure, 

To  pass  an  hour  at  Central  Park  ; 
All  the  beauties  of  the  park  we  saw, 
As  we  met  each  party  passing  by, 
And  to  tell  you  all  that  we  have  seen, 

Would  make,  would  make  you  heave  a  sigh. 
Chorus — Then  hurrah  !  boys,  make  no  delay  sirs 
Come  join  us  now,  we're  on  a  lark, 
And  while  at  leisure  we'll  take  our  pleasure, 
And  pass  an  hour  at  Central  Park. 

Oh,  how  happy  were  we  together, 

For  mirth  and  music  was  our  theme, 
And  we  sung  songs  that  in  days  of  yore, 

Have  cheered  us  like  a  pleasant  dream ; 
And  as  we  drove  amid  the  throng, 

Each  eye  on  us  did  seem  to  dart, 
To  think  how  happy  we  all  were, 

As  we  passed  an  hour  at  Central  Park.  (Chorus.) 

Oh,  in  sadness,  when  life  seems  dreary, 

You  should  pass  an  hour  at  Central  Park, 
For  your  heart  there  will  rill  with  gladness, 

If  for  sport  in  you  you  have  a  spark  5 
It  is  there  bright  smiles  and  balmy  breeze, 

And  many  friends  you're  sure  to  find, 
Who  all  your  worldly  care  will  ease, 

And  cheer,  and  cheer  your  troubled  mind.  (Cho.) 


"The  Boys  that  Wear  the  Green." 

Copied  bv  permission  of  ITorace  Waters,  Music  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

A  cry  comes  up  from  Irish  hearts, 

And  echoes  through  the  land, 
The  time  is  near,  my  countrymen, 

For  Erin  take  your  stand  ; 
And  quicker  than  the  lightning's  flash, 

Can  hy  the  eye  be  seen, 
Springs  up  at  once,  on  every  side, 
The  boys  that  wear  the  green. 
Chorus — First  Ireland,  then  America, 
Let  nothing  come  between 
The  love  you  bear  them  both,  my  lads, 
The  boys  that  wear  the  green. 

Cheer  up,  brave  hearts,  though  English  fog 

Had  half  obscured  your  sight, 
Since  then  you've  fought  for  Uncle  Sam, 

And  now  can  see  aright ; 
You've  brought  the  glorious  stars  and  stripes, 

Through  many  a  bloody  scene, 
And  wore  the  good  old  army  blue, 

The  boys  that  wear  the  green.  (Chorus.) 

Thick  on  thy  hills,  dear  Erin's  isle, 

The  Irish  graves  are  sown, 
And  flowers  bloom  above  the  dust, 

By  British  grant  alone  ; 
But  soon,  thank  God,  thy  day  will  dawn, 

Sweet  captive  of  the  sea, 
For  hearts  and  wills  are  both  at  work, 

And  Ireland  shall  be  free  /         (Chorus.) 


10 


Oh,  Would  I  were  a  Fly. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
647  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh,  would  I  were  a  fly, 

To  buzz  about  all  day, 
Oh,  wouldn't  I  live  high, 

Without  a  cent  to  pay  ? 
And  in  store-windows  I 

Would  bask  it  in  the  sun, 
And  lick  molasses  candy, 

Oh,  wouldn't  that  be  fun  ? 
I'd  never  mind  the  taxes, 

No  matter  how  they'd  rise, 
For  while  there's  stamps  on  every  thing, 

There's  none  upon  the  flies. 
Chorus — Oh,  would  I  were  a  fly, 

To  buzz  about  all  day, 
Oh,  wouldn't  I  live  high, 

Without  a  cent  to  pay. 

Oh,  if  I  were  a  fly 

A-buzzing  I  would  keep, 
And  hunt  until  I'd  find 

Some  bummer  chap  asleep ; 
So  jolly  it  would  be 

Upon  his  nose  to  light, 
Or  drop  into  his  ear, 

And  there  I'd  buzz  and  bite; 
And  if  away  he'd  drive  me, 

I  would  come  back  again, 
Tot  flies  are  mighty  lively, 

When  plaguing  sleepy  men.  ,  (Chorus.) 

Oh,  if  I  were  a  fly, 

I'd  on  a  gin-glass  light, 


11 

Then  I  would  sip  away, 

And  never  would  get  tight ; 
Nor  fear  to  be  arrested, 

Or  through  the  streets  to  reel, 
For  a  fly  can  sip  his  toddy 

And  ne'er  a  headache  feel , 
Oh,  then,  how  I  would  puzzle, 

With  no  fear  of  human  woes, 
And  never  have  a  pimple, 

Or  strawberry  on  my  nose.       (Choru&) 

Oh,  if  I  were  a  fly, 

From  place  to  place  I'd  roam, 
I'd  have  no  rent  to  pay, 

I'd  have  no  care  of  home  ; 
For,  unlike  married  men, 

Then  I  would  laugh  at  fate, 
And  have  no  wife  to  scold  me, 

If  I  should  stop  out  late ; 
No  falsehood  I  should  try, 

Or  no  excusive  dodge, 
By  telling  "  Mrs.  Fly;' 

That  I  was  at  the  " Lodge"      (Chorus.) 

Oh,  if  I  were  a  fly, 

Some  pretty  girl  I'd  seek, 
And,  just  beneath  her  eye, 

I'd  perch  upon  her  cheek ; 
And  I  would  linger  there, 

And  fellers  passing  by 
Would  all  be  sure  to  eavy 

The  happy  little  fly. 
If  with  a  gal  a  feller 

A  game  like  that  e'er  tries 
She'd  smack  him  in  the  snoot, 

Or  else  she'd  scratch  his  eyes.    (Chorus.) 


12 


Be  Kind  to  Darling  Sister  Nell. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publish- 
ers, 277  Washington  Street,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Be  kind  to  darling  sister  Nell, 
Good  lady,  when  I'm  dead  ; 
Let  not  a  shade  of  sorrow  hang 

Above  her  infant  head. 
Her  tender  heart  will  yearn  for  love, 

Her  soul  with  grief  may  stir, 
But  treat  her  gently  as  thine  own, 
Be  very  kind  to  her. 
Chorus — Good  lady,  hear  an  orphan's  prayer  ! 
And  treat  her  gently  as  thine  own, 
For  how  can  darling  sister  live, 
Alone,  in  this  cold  world,  alone. 

How  sadly  would  she  tread  alone 

The  rugged  path  of  years, 
Without  a  father's  cheering  voice, 

To  sooth  her  childish  fears ; 
Without  a  mother's  faithful  care, 

And  watchful  eyes  of  love, 
To  guide  her  in  the  path  of  truth, 

And  to  the  home  above.  (Chorus.) 

Be  kind  to  darling  sister  Nell ; 

Oh !  tell  me,  ere  I  go, 
Will  ever  that  pure  trusting  heart, 

A  pang  of  anguish  know  ? 
And  will  her  orphan  tears  of  grief, 

For  pity  plead  in  vain  ? 
And  will  she  mourn  that  we  are  gone, 

While  she  must  here  remain  ?    (Chorus.) 


13 


Wait,  my  Little  One,  Wait! 

Copied  bv  permission  of  Horace  Waters.  Music  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Wait !  my  litttle  one,  wait ! 

When  you  get  to  the  beautiful  land ; 
Oh,  tarry  a  little,  my  darling  one, 

Ere  you  join  the  heavenly  band. 
Stand  close  to  the  shining  gates  of  pearl, 

Look  out  on  the  narrow  way, 
For  I  want  the  first  glance  of  my  heaven-born  sight, 

On  my  little  baby  to  stray. 

Wait,  my  little  one,  wait !  etc. 


Wait !  my  little  one,  wait  1 

When  you  reach  the  courts  above ; 
Look  down  with  the  light  of  thy  beautiful  eyes, 

On  those  that  you  used  to  love. 
Whisper  sweet  dreams  in  our  earthly  ears, 

Whene'er  we  lie  down  to  sleep ; 
And  paint  bright  pictures  before  our  eyes, 

When  we  awaken  to  weep. 

Wait,  my  little  one,  wait !  etc. 

Wait !  my  little  one,  wait ! 

When  you  reach  the  celestial  strand, 
For  thy  mother  may  be  toiling  up 

To  the  bights  of  the  better  land. 
For  the  years  that  fall  like  molten  lead 

On  the  hearts  this  side  of  the  sea, 
Will  pass  like  the  light  of  a  beautiful  dream, 

My  little  baby,  o'er  thee. 

Wait,  my  little  one,  wait !  etc. 


14 


The  Patter  of  the  Rain. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

When  the  humid  rain-clouds  gather 

Over  all  the  starry  spheres, 
And  a  melancholy  darkness 

Gently  weeps  in  rainy  tears, 
'Tis  a  joy  to  press  the  pillow 
Of  a  cottage-chamber  bed, 
And  listen  to  the  patter 
Of  the  soft  rain  overhead. 
Chorus — Listen  to  to  the  patter 

Of  the  rain  upon  the  roof, 
Listen  to  the  patter 

Of  the  rain  upon  the  roofl 

Then  in  fancy  comes  my  mother, 

As  she  used  to  years  bygone, 
To  survey  the  infant  sleepers, 

Ere  she  left  them  for  the  dawn ; 
I  can  see  her  bending  o'er  me 

As  I  listen  to  the  strain 
Which  is  played  upon  the  shingles 

By  the  patter  of  the  rain.         (Chorus.) 

Then  my  little  seraph  sister, 

With  her  wings  and  waving  hair  ; 
And  her  bright-eyed  cherub  brother, 

A  serene  angelic  pair — 
Glide  around  my  wakeful  pillow, 

With  their  praise  or  mild  reproof, 
As  I  listen  to  the  patter 

Of  the  rain  upon  the  roof.         (Chorus.) 


15 


There  is  naught  in  art's  bravuras 

That  can  work  with  such  a  spell, 
In  the  spirit's  pure  deep  fountains, 

Where  the  holy  passions  swell ; 
As  that  melody  of  nature, 

That  subdued  and  softening  strain, 
Which  is  played  upon  the  shingles 

By  the  patter  of  the  rain.  (Chorus.) 


Come  from  Afar. 


Copied  by  permission  of  William  A.  Pond,  &  Co.,  Music  Pub- 
lishers, 547  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Come  from  afar,  thou  birdling  of  beauty, 

Waken  the  woods  with  thy  sweet  notes  again, 
Bid  all  the  echoes  from  valley  and  mountain 

Chant  to  thy  music  their  softest  refrain. 
How  have  I  missed  thee,  thou  birdling  of  beauty, 
Through  the  long  season  of  winter  and  gloom  ? 
From  the  dark  woods  comes  no  melody  stealing, 

Over  the  valleys  no  breath  of  perfume. 
Chorus — Come  from  afar, 
Come  from  afar, 
Birdling  of  beauty, 
Oh,  come  from  afar. 

Hushed  are  thy  warblings,  thou  birdling  of  beauty, 

Lonely  the  haunts  where  thy  sweet  voice  was  heard, 
Leaflet  and  rivulet  mournfully  sighing, 

Wait  but  to  herald  thy  coming,  sweet  bird. 
Linger  no  longer,  thou  birdling  of  beauty, 

Hasten  the  pleasures  we  pine  for  to  bring, 
Nature  will  charm  me  not  if  thou  art  absent, 

Spring  is  returning  !  oh,  come  with  the  spring. 


16 

Strictly  Confidential, 

Copied  by  permission  of  H.  M.  Higgins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  Street,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

I've'just  dropped  in,  Miss  Minikin, 

Quite  in  a  quiet  way,  dear, 
To  have  a  chat  about  this  and  that, 

And  hear  what  you've  to  say,  dear ; 
You'll  quite  agree,  my  dear,  with  me, 

You  know  it's  quite  essential — ■ 
That  what  we  say,  this  quiet  way. 

Is  strictly  confidential. 
chorus. 
Yes,  you'll  agree,  my  dear,  with  me, 

You  know  it's  quite  essential — 
That  what  we  say,  this  quiet  way, 

Is  strictly  confidential. 


"Of  course  you've  seen  the  match  between 

Dear  Kate  and  Jo.  is  over, 
I  really  grieve,  yet  can't  conceive 

How  he  could  ever  love  her ; 
Upon  my  word  she's  quite  absurd, 

So  over-deferential, 
Mind,  what  we  say,  this  quiet  way, 

Is  strictly  confidential.  (Chorus.) 

Now  you  shall  hear  a  secret,  dear, 

I  feel  quite  sure  he'll  offer, 
I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he 

His  heart  and  hand  should  proffer ; 
You  know  he's  proved  that  he  has  moved 

In  circles  influential ; 


17 


Mind,  what  we  say,  this  quiet  way, 

Is  strictly  confidential.  (Chorus.) 

Oh,  that's  delightful  news  to-night ! 

You  think  I  shall  not  lose  him  ? 
I'll  own,  if  he  proposed  to  me, 

I  could  not  well  refuse  him. 
Now,  dear,  you'll  tell  me  how  to  quell 

My  heart,  and  be  prudential, 
For  what  you  say,  tins  quiet  way, 

Is  strictly  confidential.  (Chorus.) 

Forgive  me,  dear,  you  don't  appear 

To  understand  me  rightly, 
It  is  to  me  he  seems  to  be 

Inclined  to  act  politely  j 
Now  throw  aside  your  wounded  pride, 

I  promise,  dear,  you  then  shall 
As  bride's-maid  go,  but  this  you  know, 

Is  strictly  confidential.  (Chorus.) 

Propose  to  you  !  that's  something  new  ! 

What's  this?  a  scented  letter! 
This  morn  at  eight  he  wedded  Kate ! 

I  really  now  feel  better. 
Now  pray  don't  swoon  so  very  soon, 

My  dear  Miss  Consequential, 
I  promise  you  our  interview 

Is  strictly  confidential. 

CHORUS. 

Yes,  I'll  agree,  my  dear,  with  thee, 

I  know  it's  quite  essential, 
That  what  we  say,  this  quiet  way, 

Is  strictly  confidential. 


18 


The  Lost  One. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Mnsic  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

There's  a  little  vale  that  looks 

Down  the  blue  Long  Island  Sound, 
Full  of  hazel-sheltered  nooks, 

That  with  violets  abound  ; 
There  in  its  thickest  shade, 

Where  the  wild  flowers  sweetest  blow, 
Lies  the  darling  little  maid, 

That  I  lost  so  long  ago. 

She  was  like  some  little  star, 

As  'tis  twinkling  into  life, 
And,  though  I  was  older  far, 

Still  she  vowed  to  be  my  wife ; 
And  though  time  upon  my  head 

Shed  his  silent  flakes  of  snow, 
Love  could  melt  them  off,  she  said, 

But  I  lost  her  long  ago. 

Her  grave  is  very  small, 

Like  a  ripple  on  the  sod, 
Yet  'twas  wide  enough  for  all 

I  held  dearest  next  to  God  ; 
Oh,  to  think  she  could  be  laid 

In  that  tiny  spot  below, 
The  darling  little  maid, 

That  I  lost  so  long  ago. 

With  my  arm  across  the  mound, 
And  my  cheek  against  the  turf, 

Do  I  listen  to  the  sound 
Of  the  ever-rolling  surf; 


19 

And  it  seems  as  if  it  said, 

Somewhat  softened  by  my  woe, 

*  You  will  find  the  little  maid, 
That  you  lost  so  long  ago." 


Dear  Father,  Drink  no  More. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publish- 
ers, 277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Dear  father,  drink  no  more,  I  pray, 

It  makes  you  look  so  sad  ; 
Come  home,  and  drink  no  more,  I  say, 

'Twill  make  dear  mother  glad. 
Dear  father,  think  how  sick  you've  been, 

What  aches  and  pains  you  know  ! 
Oh,  drink  no  more,  and  then  you'll  find 

A  home  where'er  you  go. 

Dear  father,  think  of  mother'^  tears, 

How  oft  and  sad  they  flow ! 
Oh !  drink  no  more,  then  will  her  grief 

No  longer  rack  her  so. 
Dear  father,  think  what  would  become 

Of  me,  were  you  to  die ; 
Without  a  father,  friend  or  home, 

Beneath  the  chilly  sky-: 

Dear  father,  do  not  turn  away, 

Nor  think  from  me  to  roam ; 
Oh,  drink  no  more  by  night  or  day — 

Now  come,  let  us  go  home. 
Thus  spake  in  tenderness  the  child : 

The  drunkard's  heart  was  moved, 
He  signed  the  pledge  !  he  wept !  he  smiled  I 

And  kissed  the  boy  he  loved. 


20 


Mill  May. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publish- 
ers, 277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  strawberries  grow  in  the  mowing,  Mill  May, 

The  bobolink  sings  on  the  tree ; 
On  the  knoll  the  red  clover  is  growing,  Mill  May, 

Then  come  to  the  meadow  with  me, 
We'll  pick  the  ripe  clusters  among  the  deep  grass, 

On  the  knoll  in  the  morning,  Mill  May ; 
And  the  long  afternoon  together  we'll  pass, 

Where  the  clover  is  growing,  Mill  May. 

CHORUS. 

We'll  pick  the  ripe  clusters  among  the  deep  grass, 
On  the  knoll  in  the  morning,  Mill  May ; 

And  the  long  afternoon  together  we'll  pass, 
Where  the  clover  is  growing,  Mill  May. 

Come,  come !  e'er-  the  season  is  over,  Mill  May, 

To  the  fields  where  the  strawberries  grow, 
While  the  thick  growing  stems  and  the  clover,  Mill  May, 

Shall  meet  us  wherever  we  go. 
We'll  pick  the  ripe  clusters  among  the  deep  grass, 

On  the  knoll  in  the  morning,  Mill  May ; 
And  the  long  afternoon,  together  we'll  pass, 

Where  the  clover  is  growing,  Mill  May.     (Cho.) 

The  sun  stealing  under  your  bonnet,  Mill  May, 

Shall  kiss  a  soft  glow  to  your  face ; 
And  your  lip  the  strawberry  leave  on  it,  Mill  May, 

A  tint  that  sea-shell  would  grace  ; 
Then  come,  the  ripe  clusters  among  the  deep  grass, 

We'll  pick  in  the  morning,  Mill  May, 
And  the  long  afternoon  together  we'll  pass, 

Where  the  clover  is  growing,  Mill  May.    (Cho.) 


21 


Faithless  Nelly. 


Copied  bypermission  of  Oliver  Ditson  <fc  Co.,  MnsicPabiishere, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Oh  !  Xelly  was  the  sweetest  girl 

That  ever  eyes  did  see, 
And  when  I  rambled  by  her  side, 

I  thought  she  loved  but  me  ; 
My  fancy  pictured  happy  years, 

That  nigger  girl  my  wife, 
Alas  !  she  loves  another  now, 
And  all  is  dark  through  life. 
Chokus — Well,  if  she's  false,  I  can't  help  that, 
And  why  should  I  deplore  ? 
The  loss  of  one's  the  gain  of  two, 
And  choice  of  twenty  more 

How  often  have  I  heard  her  say 

She  had  no  wish  to  range, 
That  'mid  the  changing  scenes  of  life 

Her  heart  could  know  no  change ; 
But  now  where'er  we  chance  to  meet. 

She  turns  her  head  away. 
I  wish  I  never  had  been  born, 

To  see  so  sad  a  day.  (Chorus.) 

I  cast  my  hoe  in  anguish  down, 

The  field  of  labor  leave, 
Since  fate,  alas  !  doth  o'er  me  frown, 

This  saddened  heart  must  grieve  ; 
I  mourn  her  loss,  I  mourn  her  ways, 

That  she  could  faithless  prove, 
And  sadden  the  remaining  days, 

Of  one  whose  life  was  love.     (Chorus.) 


22 


Song  of  a  Bachelor. 

Copied  by  permission  of  H.  M.  Higgins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  St.,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Ah  !  I  would  a  bachelor  be, 

Both  merry  and  happy  and  free ; 

I'd  smoke  my  cigar,  and  play  my  guitar 

And  do  as  it  suiteth  me ; 

I'd  have  no  squalling  baby, 

To  bother  out  my  life, 
And  I'm. sure  'twould  make  me  crazy 
To  have  a  scholding  wife. 
Chorus — For  I  would  a  bachelor  be, 

Both  merry,  and  happy,  and  free, 

I'd  smoke  my  cigar,  and  play  my  guitar, 

And  do  as  it  suiteth  me. 

Some  gents  of  twenty-three, 

And  others  of  something  less, 
May  think  it  fine  to  sup  and  dine, 

Where  the  ladies  smiles  do  bless ; 
But  give  to  me  my  dog  and  gun, 

And  my  courser  proud  and  fine, 
And  when  at  night  the  chase  is  done, 

We  all  take  our  wine.  (Chorus.) 

The  ladies  are  sweet,  I  know, 

When  they  promenading  go, 
When  their  silks  they  rustle  with  an  awful  bustle, 

And  their  kids  as  white  as  snow ; 
I've  pressed  their  hands,  I've  kissed  their  cheek, 

But  I  could  never  think, 
That  a  lady's  smile  my  heart  could  break, 

Or  her  tear  could  make  me  wince !  (Cho.) 


23 


Now,  gents,  you've  heard  my  song, 

Do  you  not  envy  me  ? 
For  I  am  now  a  bachelor  strong 

And  can  eat  enough  for  three. 
For  I  am  now  a  bachelor  gay, 

And  till  the  close  of  life, 
I  hope  I'll  ne'er  be  troubled 

With  any  kind  of  a  wife!         (Chorus.) 


Mother  is  Going  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
r*o.  277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Mother  is  going  home, 

To  the  heavenly  land,  to  join  the  band 
Of  loved  ones  waiting  there  ; 

Its  light  e'en  now  rests  on  her  brow, 
And  silvers  her  wavy  hair. 
Chorus — Going  home,  going  home, 

To  join  the  band  in  the  heavenly  land  ; 
Yes,  mother  is  going  home. 

Mother  is  going  home, 

To  the  home  of  the  blest,  to  find  the  rest 
She  sought  for  day  by  day ; 

To  meet  above  her  heart's  first  love, 
That  passed  from  earth  away.       (Chorus.) 

Ye9,  mother's  going  home, 

At  heaven's  gates,  a  crown  awaits 

The  faithful  evermore  ; 

When  to  us  is  given  a  rest  in  heaven, 

She'll  meet  us  at  the  door.  (Chorus.) 


24 


He  Vowed  he  Never  would  Leave  me. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publish- 
ers, 277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Please  to  look  on  me,  say  am  I  bold 

Yet  behold :  I've  been  sold, 

And  I'm  sure  when  my  story  I've  told, 

Badly  treated  I've  been,  you  will  say, 

By  a  chap  who  was  called  Thomas  James, 

Thomas  James  was  his  name, 

And  I  hope  I'll  ne'er  see  him  again. 

CHORUS. 

Tootleum,  tootleum  day — 
Though  he  vowed  that  he  never  would  leave  me, 
But  I'm  sure  he  meant  to  deceive  me, 

Tootleum,  tootleum,  tootleum,  tootleum,  day. 

I  first  met  this  chap  in  the  park, 

In  the  park,  what  a  lark, 

He  ventured  to  make  a  remark, 

That  it  was  a  very  cold  day. 

To  which  I  replied  not  too  bold, 

That  it  was  very  cold, 

His  name  and  address  then  he  told.   (Choru9.) 

Says  he,  charming  girl  name  the  day, 

Only  say  when  the  day, 

So  I  spoke  up  and  said,  right  away, 

Til  marry  you  now,  Thomas  James. 

But  the  very  next  day,  on  the  street, 

On  the  street  I  did  meet, 

This  chap  with  a  girl  talking  sweet.  (Chorus.) 

Says  I,  "  Thomas  James,  this  looks  queer, 

Very  queer,  talking  here ;" 

When  he  turned  round  and  said,  "  wifey  dear, 


25 


Send  this  crazy  "woman  away." 

Then  I  screamed  out  and  said  cruel  man, 

Look  at  me  if  you  can, 

But  he  took  to  his  heels  and  he  ran.  (Chorus.) 


"Bring  Me  a  Pretty  Bouquet." 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Do  you  want  me  to  love  you  ? 

Then  bring  a  bouquet, 
And  I'll  let  you  sit  by  me 

And  hear  all  you  say  ; 
For  I'd  listen  to  soft  talk 

Till  breaking  of  day, 
If  I'd  only  beside  me 

A  pretty  bouquet. 

'Tis  no  matter  how  ugly 

Your  phizog  may  be, 
If  you  bring  a  bouquet 

You're  the  fellow  for  me  ; 
You  can't  guess  how  I'd  love  you, 

If  you'd  bring  a  bouquet, 
Oh  !  I'd  long  to  see  you, 

Five,  ten  times  a  day  ! 

Yes  !  I'd  watch  for  your  coming, 

And  for  the  bouquet, 
The  minutes  would  be  hours 

While  you  are  away  ; 
What  sweet  smiles  I'd  have  for  you, 

What  sweet  words  I'd  say. 
Oh  !  how  much  I  would  love  you, 

And  your  pretty  bouquet ! 


26 


Tour  Mission. 

Copied  by  permission  of  S.  Brainakd  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
203  Superior  St.,  Ohio,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

If  you  can  not  on  the  ocean 

Sail  among  the  swiftest  fleet, 
Rocking  on  the  highest  billows, 

Laughing  at  the  storms  you  meet, 
You  can  stand  among  the  sailors, 

Anchored  yet  within  the  bay, 
You  can  lend  a  hand  to  help  them, 

As  they  launch  their  boats  away. 

If  you  are  too  weak  to  journey 

Up  the  mountain  steep  and  high, 
You  can  stand  within  the  valley, 

While  the  multitudes  go  by, 
You  can  chant  in  happy  measure, 

As  they  slowly  pass  along, 
Though  they  may  forget  the  singer, 

They  will  not  forget  the  song. 

If  you  have  not  gold  and  silver 

Ever  ready  to  command, 
If  you  can  not  toward  the  needy 

Reach  an  ever  open  hand, 
You  can  visit  the  afflicted, 

O'er  the  erring  you  can  weep, 
You  can  be  a  true  disciple, 

Sitting  at  the  Savior's  feet 

If  you  can  not  in  the  conflict, 

Prove  yourself  a  soldier  true,- 
If  where  fire  and  smoke  are  thickest, 

There's  no  work  for  you  to  do  ; 


27 

When  the  battle-field  is  silent, 
You  can  go  with  careful  tread, 

You  can  bear  away  the  wounded, 
You  can  cover  up  the  dead. 

Do  not  then,  stand,  idly  waiting 

For  some  greater  work  to  do, 
Fortune  is  a  lazy  goddess, 

She  will  never  come  to  you. 
Go  and  toil  in  any  vineyard, 

Do  not  fear  to  do  or  dare, 
If  you  want  a  field  of  labor, 

You  can  find  it  any  where. 


Evening, 


The  sun  in  the  ocean  is  sinking, 

And  day  fast  approaching  its  close, 
The  din  of  the  world  too  is  dying, 

And  nature  givek  way  to  repose. 
All  those  that  were  hoping  and  fearing, 

And  striving  'mid  pain  and  delight, 
In  comfort  and  peace  are  now  sleeping, 

In  the  balmy  embraces  of  night. 

While  darkness  on  earth  is  still  deepening, 

The  stars  on  high  growing  bright, 
This  heart  which  by  day  knows  no  gladness, 

Now  soars  to  the  heavens  at  night. 
Oh,  send  ye  bright  orbs  sweetest  slumber, 

To  eyes  that  with  weariness  teem, 
Oh,  free  me  for  once  from  my  anguish, 

And  show  me  but  bliss  in  a  dream. 


28 

We'll  go  with  Grant  Again. 

Copied  by  permission  of  W.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publisher,  547 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

The  musket  hangs  upon  the  wall, 

The  knapsack's  laid  aside, 
The  fight  is  won,  no  more  we'll  wade 

In  battle's  raging  tide. 
But  boys  we'll  keep  our  powder  dry, 

We  know  not  what  may  come, 
Though  all  is  fair  and  peaceful  now, 

'Neath  freedom's  lofty  dome. 
And  if  the  dawn  of  war  should  come, 

While  loyal  hearts  remain, 
"  We'll  take  the  old  familiar  guns, 

And  go  with  Grant  again." 

CHORUS. 

"  We'll  go  with  Grant  again,  my  boys, 

We'll  go  with  Grant  again, 
Hurrah  !  we'll  take  the  old  familiar  guns, 

And  go  with  Grant  again." 

Oh !  never  be  our  brother,  boys, 

The  foe  that  we  must  meet, 
But  altogether  let  our  lips, 

The  Union  song  repeat ; 
The  stars  once  more  upon  our  flag, 

Are  gleaming  in  their  might ; 
Then  let  the  past  be  buried,  bo}rs, 

The  future  now  is  bright, 
But  should  "  outsiders  "  rouse  us,  boys, 

And  hopes  of  concord  wane, 
"  We'll  take  the  old  familiar  guns, 

And  go  with  Grant  again."  (Chorus.) 


29 


There  seems  to  be  a  little  cloud, 

Just  rising  in  the  sky  ; 
Napoleon  down  in  Mexico, 

Is  fighting  rather  shy. 
But  Uncle  Sam  has  let  him  know, 

That  he  had  better  quit ; 
We're  slow  to  take  offence,  my  boys, 

But  "  mighty  hard  "  to  hit ; 
If  Maximilian  will  not  go, 

The  way  to  fix  him's  plain, 
"  We'll  take  the  old  familiar  guns, 

And  go  with  Grant  again."  (Chorus.) 


Dark-Eyed  One. 


Dark-eyed  one,  dark-eyed  one,  come  hither  to  me, 
I'll  sing  thee  a  song  'neath  the  tamarind  tree 
The  queen  of  the  garden,  the  ruby-lipped  rose, 
On  her  emerald  throne,  by  the  rivulet  grows. 
Come  hither,  my  rose-bud,  and  shame  the  proud  flower, 
Oulblush  the  gay  queen  in  her  own  gaudy  bower, 
I'll  sing  thee  a  song,  and  the  burden  shall  be, 
Dark-eyed  one,  dark-eyed  one,  I  languish  for  thee. 

So  laden  with  sweets  is  each  sigh  of  the  gale, 
I'm  sure  my  beloved  is  crossing  the  vale, 
The  tulip  is  quaffing  his  cup  full  of  wine, 
The  turtle  is  murmuring  vows  to  the  pine  ; 
Oli,  waste  not  the  moments  so  precious  to  love, 
Come  drink  with  the  tulip  and  court  with  the  dove, 
Til  sing  thee  a  song,  and  the  burden  shall  be, 
Dark-eyed  one,  dark-eyed  one,  I  languish  for  thee. 


30 


There's  Only  Boom  for  Two. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
563  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Where  the  thick  branches  meet, 

In  the  grove  near  the  mill, 
Is  a  moss-covered  seat 

That  lies  quiet  and  still ! 
There,  the  shade  of  the  roses 

Keep  it  hid  from  the  eye, 
And  no  owner  discloses 

To  the  world  going  by ! 
With  no  guard  save  my  dog, 

Oft  the  path  I  pursue, 
No  companion  I  ask, 

For  that  never  would  do  ! 
For  there's  only  just  room  there  for  two,  yes,  for  two, 
For  there's  only  just  room  there  for  two. 
In  the  distance,  "  sweet  home  " 

Lies  below  at  my  feet, 
While  the  stars  slyly  come 

To  peep  down  on  each  seat ; 
All  in  vain  is  your  pleading, 

To  show  you  the  way ! 
I  can't  think  of  believing 

The  half  that  you  say ! 
I'm  not  sure  that  you  love  me, 

I  can't  tell  if  you  do, 
So  I'll  go  there  alone 

And  you  must  not  pursue. 
Oh,  I  never  can  tell 

How  the  path  you  ma)'  find, 
Or  where  through  the  dell 

Its  direction  may  wind ! 


31 

Or  where  is  the  stile 

That  you  cross  by  the  mill, 
For  'tis  nearly  a  mile 

Up  the  slope  of  the  hill ! 
No  I  never  can  tell ! 

'Tis  no  use  if  I  do ! 
For  my  nook,  should  you  find, 

Has  but  just  room  for  two  ! 


Before  I  was  Married,  Oh  Dear ! 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
547  Broadway,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Before  I  was  married,  oh  dear ! 

Love's  sky  was  all  rainbows  to  me  ; 
Earth  seemed  an  elysian  sphere, 

And  life  was  all  music  and  glee  ! 
There  was  not  a  gift  I  could  ask, 

There  was  not  a  wish  I  could  own, 
But  he  flew  to  accomplish  the  task 

And  lived  but  to  love  me  alone ! 

CHORUS. 

Just  before  I  was  married,  oh  dear ! 

His  heart  was  so  kind  and  sincere, 

Just  before  I  was  married,  oh  dear,  oh  dear ! 

Just  before  I  was  married,  oh  dear ! 

Before  I  was  married,  but  now  t 

How  bitter,  alas  !  is  the  change  ! 
He's  forgotten  each  promise  and  vow, 

And  even  without  me  can  range ! 
If  I  plead  for  a  necklace  or  chain, 

Or  speak  of  a  dress  or  a  shawl, 
He  is  sure  of  his  purse  to  complain, 

And  say,  "  there's  no  business  at  all  1"  (Cho.) 


32 


Some  One  is  Waiting  for  Me ! 

Copied  by  permission  of  H.  M.  Higgins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  St.,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Down  in  yon  valley,  where  blooms  the  red  clover, 

Where  the  bright  waters  are  dancing  along, 
Some  one  is  waiting  to-night  for  a  lover ; 

Some  one  is  singing  a  beautiful  song. 
There  where  the  dew  is  asleep  on  the  flowers, 

Close  by  the  cottage  that  looks  to  the  sea, 
There  in  the  fairest  of  vine-covered  bowers, 

Some  one,  oh !  some  one  is  waiting  for  me. 

CHORUS. 

Haste  then,  ye  breezes,  that  gently  are  sighing 
Love  to  the  waters,  that  sing  to  the  sea, 

Swiftly,  oh,  swiftly,  my  light  bark  is  flying, 
Some  one,  oh !  some  one  is  waiting  for  me. 

Joyous  the  night  winds  that  'round  her  are  blowing, 

Down  through  the  clover,  and  out  from  the  west, 
Happy  the  blossoms  that  'round  her  are  growing, 

Happy  the  roses  that  lie  on  her  breast. 
Pure  as  the  star-light  that  kisses  the  river, 

Dancing  so  gayly  by  meadow  and  tree, 
Bear  her,  sweet  waters,  the  love  that  I  give  her, 

Some  one,  oh !  some  one  is  waiting  for  me. 

Bonnie  blue  ribbons  are  kissing  her  shoulder, 

Bonnie  blue  ribbons,  and  bonnie  brown  hair, 
Oh !  it  is  joy  in  my  heart  to  behold  her, 

Smiling  in  beauty  and  loveliness  there. 
Haste,  then,  ye  breezes,  that  gently  are  sighing 

Love  to  the  waters,  that  sing  to  the  sea, 
Swiftly,  oh  !  swiftly,  my  light  bark  is  flying, 

Some  one,  oh  !  some  one  is  waiting  for  me. 


33 ^_^ 

"  The  Fimiegins." 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publish- 
ers, 2T7  Washington  St,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright 

Have  you  heard  about  the  M  Finnegins  ?" 
Skiddy,  iddy  winkturn  bum  ! 

The  Mahonys'  and  Robertses. 

Skiddy,  iddy  winktum  bum ! 

Oh,  how  they  went  to  Eastport  town, 

To  knock  the  "  Blue-noses  "  aroun' — 

'Twas  a  big  time,  I  declare  ! 

Skiddy,  iddy  winktum  bum  ! 

CHORUS. 

They  captured  a  British  flag, 
And  then  to  "  Johnny  Bull  "  did  say, 
"  Bad  manners  to  ye,  anyway," 

Oh,  skiddy,  iddy  winktum  bum  ! 

Pat  Murphy,  he  stood  on  the  shore, 
Skiddy,  iddy  winktum  bum  ! 

Waiting  to  hear  the  u  Lion  roar," 

Skiddy,  iddy  winktum  bum  J 

Pat  had  a  "  pike,"  and  Tim  a  "  spade  " — 

Johnny  was  scared  and  Fin's  afraid — 

Wasn't  it  a  bully  raid  ? 

Skiddy,  iddy  winktum  bum  !      (Cno.) 

Now,  General  Meade  has  gone  to  see 
Skiddy,  iddy  winktum  bum  ! 

How  many  '4  Blue-noses  "  there  11  be 
Skiddy,  iddy  winktum  bum! 

Dead  upon  the  field  of  fight — 

I  s'pose  he'll  see  a  horrid  sight — 

Johnny  ranting,  Finnegin  ■  tight," 

Skiddv,  iddy  winktum  bum  !     (Cho.) 
18  2 


34 


Will  You  Love  Me  Then,  Darling? 

Copied  by  permission  of  H.  M.  Higgins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  St.,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Oh  !  will  you  love  me,  dearest, 

When  the  joys  of  youth  are  flown  ? 
When  the  summer  days  have  faded 

And  the  autumn  is  our  own — 
When  the  rose  you  gladly  cherished 

Shall  be  withered  on  my  brow, 
And  the  fondest  hopes  have  perished, 
Will  you  love  me  then  as  now  ? 
Chorus — Oh  !   will  you  love  me,  darling, 

Will  you  kiss  my  cheek  and  brow, 
Will  you  clasp  me  to  your  bosom, 
Will  you  love  me  then  as  now  ? 

When  the  golden  leaves  of  autumn 

Shall  lie  buried  in  the  snow, 
And  the  flowers  cease  their  blooming, 

And  the  rivulets  to  flow ; 
When  the  days  grow  dark  and  dreary, 

And  the  head  with  care  shall  bow, 
When  the  heart  is  sad  and  weary, 

Will  you  love  me  then  as  now  ?         (Cho.) 

When  the  friends  we  know  have  vanished, 

Like  the  dew  before  the  sun, 
When  the  thoughts  we  would  have  banished, 

Shall  be  gathered  into  one — 
When  our  looked-for  ship  of  treasure 

To  the  rock  shall  give  its  prow, 
And  our  sorrow  fills  its  measure — 

Will  you  love  me  then  as  now  ?         (Cho.) 


35 


"When  the  eye  shall  lose  its  splendor, 

And  my  cheek  its  roseate  hue, 
When  my  voice  shall  lose  its  sweetness, 

"Will  you  then  as  now  be  true  ? 
Oh  !  will  you  love  me,  darling, 

"Will  you  kiss  my  cheek  and  brow, 
"Will  you  clasp  me  to  your  bosom, 

"Will  you  love  me  then  as  now  ?  (Cho.) 


Slumber,  my  Darling. 

Copied  bv  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Slumber,  my  darling,  thy  mother  is  near, 
Guarding  thy  dreams  from  all  terror  and  fear, 
Sunlight  has  past  and  the  twilight  has  gone, 
Slumber,  my  darling,  the  night's  coming  on. 
Sweet  visions  attend  thy  sleep, 

Fondest,  dearest  to  me, 
"While  others  their  revels  keep, 
I  will  watch  over  thee. 

CHORUS. 

Slumber,  my  darling,  the  birds  are  at  rest, 
The  wandering  dews  by  the  flowers  are  caressed ; 
Slumber,  my  darling,  I'll  wrap  thee  up  warm, 
And  pray  that  the  angels  will  shield  thee  from  harm. 
Slumber,  my  darling,  till  morn's  blushing  ray 
Brings  to  the  world  the  glad  tidings  of  day; 
Fill  the  dark  void  with  thy  dreamy  delight — 
Slumber,  thy  mother  will  guard  thee  to-night. 
Thy  pillow  shall  sacred  be 

From  all  outward  alarms ; 
Thou,  thou  art  the  world  to  me 

In  thine  innocent  charms.         (Chorus.) 


36 


Sooner  or  Later. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publish- 
ers, 277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Sooner  or  later,  the  storms  shall  beat 
Over  my  slumbers  from  head  to  feet; 
Sooner  or  later,  the  winds  shall  rave 
In  the  long  grass  above  my  grave. 
I  shall  not  heed  them  where  I  lie, 
Nothing  their  sound  shall  signify, 
Nothing  the  headstones  fret  of  rain, 
Nothing  to  me  the  dark  day's  pain. 
Chorus — Sooner  or  later,  the  storms  shall  beat 
Over  my  slumber  from  head  to  feet; 
Sooner  or  later,  the  winds  shall  rave 
In  the  long  grass  above  my  grave. 

Sooner  or  later,  the  sun  shall  shine 

With  tender  warmth  on  that  mound  of  mine  ; 

Sooner  or  later,  in  summer  air, 

Clover  and  violet  blossom  there ; 

I  shall  not  feel,  in  that  deep-laid  rest, 

The  sheeted  light  fall  over  my  breast ; 

Nor  ever  note  in  those  hidden  hours, 

The  wind-blown  breath  of  the  tossing  flowers. 

Sooner  or  later,  far  out  in  the  night, 
The  stars  shall  over  me  wing  their  flight ; 
Sooner  or  later,  my  darkling  dews, 
Catch  the  white  spark  in  their  silent  ooze. 
Never  a  ray  shall  part  the  gloom 
That  wraps  me  round  in  the  kindly  tomb ; 
Peace  shall  be  perfect  for  lip  and  brow, 
Sooner  or  later — oh  !  why  not  now  ? 


Janet's  Bridal 

And  so  I  am  going  to  be  married, 

This  brightest,  merriest  day, 
They  are  gathering  now  for  the  bridal,' 

Oh !  what  will  the  neighbors  say  ? 
I  have  but  a  knot  of  blue  ribbons, 

No  jewels  to  deck  my  hair, 
But  I  have  a  chaplet  of  bluebells, 

Which  Donald  has  sent  me  to  wear 
Bluebells,  fairy- like  bluebells, 

That  opened  at  dawn  for  me. 

How  fragrant  my  favorite  roses, 

And  clematis  steeped  in  dew, 
The  mavis  is  singing  this  morning, 

He  carols  the  woodland  through; 
And  Mary  and  Alice  are  coming, 

And  laden  with  flowers,  I  see, 
To  strew  on  the  dear  little  footpath, 

As  far  as  the  hawthorn  tree. 
Blithely  over  the  mountain, 

They  gather  from  near  and  far. 

The  sunbeams  are  kissing  the  roses, 

And  the  butterflies,  white  and  blue, 
So  joyfully  flutter  this  morning, 

And  am  I  not  joyful,  too? 
Our  home  will  be  over  the  heather, 

A  mile  from  the  hawthorn  tree, 
Oh !  I  shall  be  happy  with  Donald, 

And  he  will  be  happy  with  ma 
Happy,  ever  so  happy, 

Our  lowland   home  will  be. 


38 


Solon  Shingle. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Thad.  Firth,  (sue.  toFiBTH,  Son  &  Co.) 
Music  rnblisher,  563  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owner  of  copyright. 

Folks,  I'm  a  Jarsey  notion ; 

It  isn't  any  braggin', 
My  Father  fit  in  the  Revolution, 

He  driv'  a  baggidge  waggin, 
And  one  fine  day  he  started  out, 

All  for  to  git  some  Ml, 
But  kum  back  badly  wownded, 

Cos'  he  had  been  kicked  by  a  muiL 

CHORUS. 

"  Jes'  so,  jes'  so ;"  strange  things  do  come  to  pass  . 
Some  pesky  critter  stole   from  me  a  borril  o'  apple 
sass, 

I  courted  Patty  Bigelow, 

But  for  a  friend  made  tracks, 
Or  John  Ellsley  would  have  been  my  son 

If  he  hadn't  been  old  Zack's. 
A  brindil  cow  case  I  have  got, 

I'll  win  it,  for  I  swow 
A  smart  young  lawyer  sure  could  ride 

To  congress  on  my  cow.  (Chorus.) 

I  called  upon  a  merchant  big, 

And  on  young  Ellsley,  too, 
Ses  I,  "  Whoa-oh,  you  Cattil,  (spoken.) 

Why,  Mr.  Winslow — how  do  you  poo  ?" 
My  waggin's  standin'  jest  outside, 

To  a  post  my  mare  I  tied  her, 
And  I  want  you  temperance  cuss  to  pay 

For  that  ere  borril  o'  cider.       (Chorus.) 


39 


I  pried  about,  an'  I  looked  around, 

But  didn't  do  nothin  rash  ; 
I  found  a  pistil,  a  flask  o'  rum, 

And  the  account  of  Doctor  Cash. 
And  while  I  talked  about  old  Si, 

And  Nobby,  my  blooniin'  lass, 
Some  critter  from  my  waggin  stole 

A  borril  o'  apple  sass.  (Cho.) 

"  Perhaps,"  thinks  I,  "  this  Otis  boy, 

Who  stole  a  watch  and  chain, 
Did  steal  my  sass  ;n  so  off  I  starts, 

And  into  court  I  came, 
Got  swored  right  through,  and  tuk  a  cheer, 

But  felt  a  little  noddy, 
For  I  had  three  cents  worth  of  clam3, 

And  a  glass  o'  good  rum  toddy.    (Cho.) 

u  Next  witness  P  I  was  called  upon, 

Jes'  for  to  speak  the  truth. 
Ses  I,  "  Here,  Jedge,  hand  me  a  pen, 

I  want  to  pick  my  tooth !" 
I  bothered  all  the  law  chaps ; 

They  thought  I  was  an  ass; 
They  made  but  little  out  o'  me, 

Or  my  borril  o'  apple  sass.  (Cho.) 

morrtl. 
Any  feller  what  ud  steal  a  watch, 

'Ud  steal  a  borril  o'  sass  j 
It's  main  strength  with  them  critters, 

No  p'ints  o'  morals  pass. 
Be  careful  how  you  let  hot  rum 

An*  clams  togither  mingle, 
And  when  the  sass  case  does  come  off, 

Jes*  call  on  Solon  Shingle  ! 


40 


Loved  Ones  at  Home. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Watebs,  Mnsic  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

How  soft  the  light  of  memory  falls, 

Upon  life's  early  track, 
How  swiftly,  when  remembrance  calls, 

The  lost  comes  floating  back  ! 
And  brightly  still  within  our  heart, 

Whereerer  we  chance  to  roam, 
Fond  thoughts  and  kindly  wishes  start, 
For  those  we  loved  at  home. 
Chorus — "We've  dwelt  on  many  a  foreign  strand, 
We've  crossed  the  ocean's  foam ; 
To  every  friend  we  give  our  hand, 

But  our  heart's  with,  the  loved  at  home. 

Oh,  gaily  .sped  the  happy  days, 

When  life  and  love  were  young, 
And  hope  through  all  the  flowery  ways, 

Her  hymn  of  gladness  sung ! 
Then  every  loving  heart  was  light, 

And  bright  was  every  eye, 
And  daily,  with  renewed  delight, 

We  watched  the  hours  fly.        (Chorus.) 

God  keep  them  I  'tis  our  fervent  wish, 

Our  prayer  at  morn  and  night ; 
Our  benison  with  blessings  rich, 

To  make  their  pathway  bright 
From  every  «storm  of  earthly  ill, 

From  every  bitter  blast, 
May  Heaven  shield  our  loved  ones  still, 

And  keep  them  till  the  last  I     (Chorus.) 


41 


Can  there  be  Harm  in  Kissing? 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co..  Music  Publish- 
ers, S?n  Washingtor  St,,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

The  waters  kiss  the  pebbl}-  shore, 

The  winds  all  kiss  the  hills ; 
The  sunbeams  kiss  the  tulip-bud, 

For  the  odor  it  distils. 
The  dewdrops  kiss  the  rose  at  morn, 

The  cere  us  dew  at  eve ; 
And  fern  and  flower,  in  circling  clasp, 

Their  mystic  beauties  weave. 

CHORUS. 

Then  to  kissing  we'll  go,  and  who'll  say  no, 
When  the  flowers  are  kissed  by  the  dew  ? 

In  kissing,  then,  there  can  be  no  harm — 
I  don't  think  so  ;  do  you  ? 

The  moonbeams  kiss  the  clouds  at  night, 

The  star-gems  kiss  the  sea ; 
While  shadows  dreamy,  soft  and  light, 

Are  kissing  on  the  lea. 
The  zephyrs  kiss  the  budding  pink 

That  blooms  on  beauty's  lip ; 
And  ruder  blasts  though  cold  and  chill, 

Its  ruby  nectar  sip.  (Chorus.) 

The  winds,  the  waves,  the  budding  flowers, 

The  laughing,  merry  rills, 
Are  kissing  all  from  morn  till  eve, 

And  clouds  still  kiss  the  hills. 
Even  heaven  and  earth  do  meet  to  kiss, 

Through  tears  of  sparkling  dew  ; 
In  kissing,  then,  can  there  be  harm  ? 

I  don't  think  so  ;  do  you  ?       (Chorus.) 


42 


Our  Country  Girls, 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Mnsic  Publisher*, 
547  Broadway,  N.  Y.,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Brushing  the  crumbs  from  the  pantry, 

Hunting  for  eggs  at  the  barn, 
Cleaning  the  turnips  for  dinner, 

Spinning  the  stocking  yarn — 
Spreading  the  whitening  linen 
Down  on  the  bushes  below, 
Roaming  o'er  every  meadow 

Where  the  red  strawberries  grow. 
Chorus — Spreading  the  whitening  linen 
Down  on  the  bushes  below, 
Roaming  o'er  every  meadow 

Where  the  red  strawberries  grow. 

Up  in  the  early  morning, 

Just  at  the  peep  of  day, 
Straining  the  milk  in  the  dairy, 

Turning  the  cows  away — 
Sweeping  the  floor  in  the  kitchen, 

Making  the  beds  up-stairs, 
Washing  the  breakfast  dishes, 

Dusting  the  parlor  chairs.  (Chorus.) 

Starching  the  "  fixings  "  for  Sunday, 

Churning  the  snowy  cream, 
Rinsing  the  pails  and  strainer 

Down  in  the  running  stream — 
Feeding  the  geese  and  turkeys, 

Making  the  pumpkin  pies, 
Jogging  the  little  one's  cradle, 

Driving  away  the  flies.  (Chorus.) 


43 


Grace  in  every  motion, 

Music  in  every  tone, 
Beauty  of  form  and  feature 

Thousands  might  covet  to  own — 
Cheeks  that  rival  spring  roses, 

Teeth  the  whitest  of  pearls ; 
One  of  these  country  maids  are  worth 

A  score  of  your  city  girls.        (Chorus.) 


Hearts  and  Homes. 

Hearts  and  Homes,  sweet  words  of  pleasure, 

Music-breathing  as  ye  fall, 
Making  each  the  other's  treasure, 
Once  divided,  losing  all. 

Homes  ye  may  be  high  or  lowly, 
Hearts  alone  can  make  you  holy, 
Be  the  dwelling  e'er  so  small 
Having  love  it  boasteth  all. 

CHORUS. 

Hearts  and  Homes,  sweet  words  of  pleasure, 

Music-breathing  as  ye  fall ; 
Making  each  the  other's  treasure, 

Once  divided,  losing  all. 

Hearts  and  Homes,  sweet  words  revealing, 

All  most  good  and  fair  to  see, 
Fitting  shrines  for  purest  feeling, 
Temples  meet  to  bend  the  knee. 

Infant  hands  bright  garlands  wreathing, 
Happy  voices  incense  breathing, 
Emblems  fair  of  realms  above, 
"  For  love  is  heaven,  and  heaven  is  love." 


44 

Evening  Boat  Son**1. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

O'er  the  dancing  waves  we  glide, 

In  our  bonnie  boat ; 
On  the  bosom  of  the  tide 

Gracefully  we  float ; 
While  the  distant  shores  along, 

Fairy  echoes  play, 
And  the  silver  notes  of  song 

Gently  float  away. 

CHORUS. 

Gayly  we  glide  over  the  tide, 

Yo-ho  !  yo-ho !  yo-ho  ! 
And  the  notes  of  our  song  sweet  echoes  prolong, 

Yo-ho  !  yo-ho  !  ho-yo  ! 

Now  the  freshening  zephyrs  play 

O'er  the  trembling  sea, 
And  the  wavelets  tipped  with  spray, 

Clap  their  hands  in  glee  ; 
And  our  chorus  louder  swells, 

While  our  oars  keep  time, 
And,  anon,  like  fairy  bells, 

Sounds  the  Vesper's  chime.      (Chorus.) 

When  the  somber  night  comes  down, 

Time  of  rest  and  sleep — 
And  the  gems  in  Evening's  crown 

Sparkle  in  the  deep  ; 
Homeward  then  we  gayly  row, 

O'er  the  billows  white, 
While  the  flashing  waters  glow 

In  the  pale  moon's  light.  (Choru&) 


45 


Father's  Come  to  Bless  Us. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
«o.  277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright* 

He's  signed  the  pledge,  I  never  felt 

More  happy  in  my  life, 
Not  since  the  day  I  told  him  that 

I'd  love  and  be  his  wife ; 
Full  many  years  have  passed  and  gone 

Of  joy,  of  grief  and  pain — 
My  Willie  is  a  man  once  more, 

I'm  happy  once  again ! 
Chorus — Father  has  come,  father  has  come, 

To  bless  us  once  more, 

Father,  father,  bless  us  once  more. 

Father,  father,  bless  us  once  more. 

Our  children  will  not  go  in  rags 

Along  the  crowded  street, 
Their  father  now  will  bring  them  clothes, 

Put  shoes  upon  their  feet ; 
We'll  live  as  once  we  did  before, 

In  sweet  and  blissful  joy, 
No  more  will  hunger,  cold  or  grief 

Our  happiness  destroy.  (Chorus.) 

Come  here,  my  darlings !  let\us  pray 

That  father  will  be  true 
To  the  oath  that  he  has  taken, 

Which  blesses  me  and  you  ; 
We'll  thank  the  great  Creator, 

While  on  the  bended  knee, 
For  he  has  raised  your  father 

From  the  depths  of  misery.      (Chorus.) 


46 


Yankee  Wonders. 

Yankee  wonders  are  now  all  the  rage, 

And  I  think,  without  much  contradiction, 
I  can  prove  in  this  erudite  age, 

That  truth  is  much  stranger  than  fiction. 
A  man  sunk  in  absence  of  mind, 

Took  his  boots  off  and  laid  them  in  bed, 
And  not  dreaming  of  aught  of  the  kind, 

With  the  bootjack  pulled  clean  off  his  head. 
Chorus — Isn't  it  tarnation  strange  !  oh,  yes, 
Isn't  it  tarnation  strange ! 

There's  a  woman  as  large  as  a  tree, 

I  can't  say  in  what  State  they  found  her, 
But  set  off  on  a  trot  from  her  knee, 

It  will  take  you  a  week  to  get  round  her. 
There's  a  man  cheats  a  cock  of  his  crowing, 

And  he  does  it  so  shrill  and  so  prime, 
That  the  sun  was  observed  to  be  glowing, 

Full  two  hours  before  its  right  time. 
Chorus — Isn't  it  tarnation  strange  !  oh,  yes, 
Isn't  it  tarnation  strange  ! 

Then  a  rifleman  there's  such  a  shot, 

The  birds,  when  they  see  him  a-loading, 
Come  down  and  fall  dead  on  the  spot, 

They  can't  bear  the  noise  of  exploding. 
A  man  there  grew  fifteen  feet  high, 

Though  as  thin  and  as  pale  as  an  adder, 
And  when  his  collar  but  wanted  a  tie, 

He  was  forced  to  get  up  on  a  ladder. 
Chorus — Isn't  it  tarnation  strange  !  oh,  yes, 
Isn't  it  tarnation  strange  ! 


47 


Men  take  such  a  quantum  of  brandy, 

And  inflame  both  their  souls  and  their  bodies  ; 
Buttons  melt  off  their  coats  just  like  candy, 

"With  drinking  so  many  hot  toddies. 
A  wagoner  dreaming  of  loads, 

With  his  harness  himself  put  his  dray  in, 
And  trotting  along  o'er  the  roads, 

Never  stopped  till  he  found  himself  neighing. 
Chorus — Isn't  it  tarnation  strange  !  oh,  yes, 
Isn't  it  tarnatian  strange  ! 

In  the  post  office  box  t'other  day, 

A  lady  fast  bound  by  love's  fetters, 
Threw  herself  without  thinking,  they  say, 

And  got  mixed  up  along  with  the  letters: 
And  off  she'd  been  sent  o'er  the  ocean, 

With  other  dead  letters  to  mingle, 
Had  the  clerk  not  been  seized  with  a  notion 

To  ask  the  fair  dame  was  she  single. 
Chorus — Isn't  it  tarnation  strange  !  oh,  yes, 
Isn't  it  tarnation  strange  1 

A  man  tied  himself  up  for  the  clothes, 

And  was  sent  to  the  washwoman's  daughter, 
And  ne'er  knew  it  until  his  poor  nose 

Was  filled  full  of  soap-suds  and  water. 
Now  I  think  I've  described  Yankee  wonders, 

And  my  statement  I  never  will  change ; 
You  no  doubt  will  think  them  all  blunders, 

But  you'll  own  they  are  u  tarnation  strange !" 
Chorus — Isn't  it  tarnation  strange  !  oh,  yes, 
Isn't  it  tarnation  strange ! 


48 

■ — ■  ■.'  ■  * 

Only  Waiting. 

9S&lod  by  Permission  of  S.  Brainabd  &  Sons,  Music  Publishers, 
208  Superior  Street,  Cleveland,  Ohio,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Only  waiting  till  the  shadows 
Are  a  little  longer  grown  ; 
Only  waiting  till  the  glimmer 

Of  the  clay's  last  beam  is  flown. 
Till  the  night  of  earth  is  faded 

From  the  heart,  once  full  of  day  ; 
Till  the  stars  of  heaven  are  breaking 
Through  the  twilight  soft  and  gray. 
Chorus — Only  waiting  till  the  shadows 
Are  a  little  longer  grown, 
Only  waiting  till  the  glimmer 
Of  the  day's  last  beam  is  flown. 

Only  waiting  till  the  reapers 

Have  the  last  sheaf  gathered  home ; 
For  the  summer  time  is  faded, 

And  the  autumn  winds  have  come. 
Quickly,  reapers !  gather  quickly 

The  last  ripe  hours  of  my  heart ; 
For  the  bloom  of  life  is  withered, 

And  I  hasten  to  depart.  (Chorus.) 

Only  waiting  till  the  angels 

Open  wide  the  mystic  gate, 
At  whose  feet  I  long  have  lingered, 

Weary,  poor,  and  desolate ; 
Even  now  I  hear  the  footsteps,    - 

And  their  voices  far  away, 
If  they  call  me,  I  am  waiting, 

Only  waiting  to  obey.  (Chorus.) 


49 


Only  waiting  till  the  shadows 

Are  a  little  longer  grown  ; 
Only  waiting  till  the  glimmer 

Of  the  clay's  last  beam  is  flown. 
Then  from  out  the  gathering  darkness, 

Holy,  deathless  stars  shall  rise, 
By  whose  light  my  soul  shall  gladly 

Tread  its  pathway  to  the  skies.    (Chorus.) 


Come,  Draw  your  Chair  Beside  Me. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Son  &  Co.,  Mnsic  Publishers, 
663  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Come,  draw  your  chair  besido  me, 

We'll  speak  in  voices  low — 
Come,  draw  your  chair  beside  me, 

True  friend  of  long  ago. 
While  years,  like  clouds  above  us, 

Are  flying  far  away, 
We'll  give  to  those  that  love  us 
The  moments  that  we  may. 
Chorus — Come,  draw  your  chair  beside  me, 
We'll  speak  in  voices  low ; 
Come,  draw  your  chair  beside  me, 
True  friend  of  long  ago. 

The  breath  of  time  is  blowing 

The  blossoms  from  our  hearts, 
But  verdure  still  is  growing 

When  all  the  bloom  departs. 
Thus  in  my  heart  I'll  cherisn 

Green  memories  still  of  thee  ; 
Though  all  the  blossoms  perish       m 

Still  firmly  stands  the  tree !       (Chorus.) 


50 


Times  hab  badly  Change',  Ole  Massa. 

Copied  bypermission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright 

Times  hab  badly  change',  ole  massa,  now, 

Since  de  war  am  done  ; 
Tears  as  if  he'd  like  to  run  away, 
An'  don't  know  whar'  to  run. 
Chorus — Work,  work,  work,  work, 
Work,  or  pay  de  fine  ; 
Dis  am  freedom  by  de  "  contract "  now, 
An'  all  I  hab  is  mine. 

Once- ole  massa  'peared  to  lub  us  like, 

'Cause  he  owned  us  den, 
Now  he  nebber  seem  to  treat  us  right, 
Since  freedom  made  us  men. 
Chorus — Work,  work,  wait,  wait, 
Wait  for  de  jubilee, 
When  ole  massa  will  be  jus'  an'  kind, 
An'  we'll  be  truly  free. 

But  de  kingdom  mus'  be  comin'  soon, 

When  all  dis  wrong  will  end, 
Den  ole  massa*  we'll  be  children  all 

Ob  de  one  great  Heabenly  Friend.    (Chorus.) 

Den  de  Chris*  will  come  from  heab'n  once  more, 

An'  all  de  world  shall  see 
Why  he  puts  de  crown  on  massa's  head — 
"  Ye  did  it  unto  me." 
Chorus — Work,  work,  wait,  wait, 

Wait  for  de  "  Great  White  Throne 
^       Den  de  Judge'll  pay  us  all  dat's  due, 
An'  take  us  for  His  own. 


51 

Sleep,  my  Dear  One. 

Copied  by  permission  of  ITorace  Waters,  Music  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Sleep,  my  dear  one,  softly  sleep, 

Angels  vigils  o'er  thee  keep  ; 

There's  a  Heaven  of  bliss  above, 

And  a  fond  heart  here  to  love. 

Dream,  my  dearest,  sweetly  dream, 

Floating  down  life's  happy  stream ; 

May  its  ripples  soft  and  sweet, 

Murmur  music  at  thy  feet. 
Chorus — Sleep,  my  dear  one,  softly  sleep, 
Angels  vigils  o'er  tliee  keep ; 
And  whate'er  thy  dreams  may  be, 
Dream,  oh  !  sweetly  dream  of  me. 

Rest,  my  loved  one,  calmly  rest, 

Thou  in  innocence  art  blest ; 

Seraphs  guard  thy  couch  above, 

With  their  wakeful  eyes  of  love. 

Roam,  my  fair  one,  light  and  gay, 

Far  in  dream-land's  flowery  way, 

And  may  sweeter  lays  than  mine 

'Round  thy  gentle  spirit  twine.     (Chorus.) 

If  within  thy  tender  breast, 

There  is  sorrow  or  unrest ; 

That  may  waken  wTith  the  light, 

I  would  have  it  always  night. 

"Would  that  thy  dear  life  might  prove 

One  long  blissful  dream  of  love, 

With  no  shade  of  sin  or  care, 

Resting  on  thy  forehead  fair.         (Chorus.) 


52 


My  Trundle  Bed. 


Copied  by  permission  of  H.  M.  Higgins,  Music  Publisher,  117 
Randolph  Street,  Chicago,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

As  I  rummaged  through  the  attic, 

Listening  to  the  falling  rain, 
As  it  pattered  on  the  shingles 

And  against  the  window  pane; 
Peeping  over  chests  and  boxes, 

Which  with  dust  were  thickly  spread, 
Saw  I  in  the  farthest  corner 

What  was  once  my  trundle  bed. 

So  I  drew  it  from  the  recess, 

Where  it  had  remained  so  long, 
Hearing  all  the  while  the  music 

Of  my  mother's  voice  in  song ; 
As  she  sung  in  sweetest  accents, 

What  I  since  have  often  read — 
"  Hush,  my  dear,  lie  still  and  slumber, 

Holy  angels  guard  thy  bed." 

As  I  listened,  recollections 

That  I  thought  had  been  forgot, 
Came  with  all  the  gush  of  memory, 

Rushing,  thronging  to  the  spot ; 
And  I  wandered  back  to  childhood 

To  those  merry  days  of  yore, 
When  I  knelt  beside  my  mother, 

By  this  bed  upon  the  floor. 

Then  it  was  with  hands  so  gently 

Placed  upon  my  infant  head, 
That  she  taught  my  lips  to  utter 

Carefully  the  words  she  said ; 


53 

Never  can  they  be  forgotten, 

Deep  are  they  in  memory  riven — 

u  Hallowed  be  thy  name,  oh,  Father  1 
Father  !  thou  art  in  heaven." 

Years  have  passed,  and  that  dear  mother 

Long  has  moldered  'neath  the  sod, 
And  I  trust  her  sainted  spirit 

Revels  in  the  home  of  God  ; 
But  that  scene  at  summer  twilight, 

Never  has  from  memory  fled, 
And  it  comes  in  all  its  freshness 

When  I  see  my  trundle  bed. 

This  she  taught  me,  then  she  told  me 

Of  its  import,  great  and  deep — 
After  which  I  learned  to  utter  : 

41  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep ;" 
Then  it  was  with  hands  uplifted, 

And  in  accents  soft  and  mild, 
That  my  mother  asked — "  Our  Father  ! 

Father !  do  thou  bless  my  child  l" 


See,  the  Conquering  Hero  Comes. 

See,  the  conquering  hero  comes, 
Sound  the  trumpet,  beat  the  drums ; 
Sports  prepare,  the  laurel  bring, 
Songs  of  triumph  to  him  sing. 

See  the  godlike  youth  advance, 
Breathe  the  flutes  and  lead  the  dance ; 
Myrtle  wreaths  and  roses  twine, 
To  deck  the  hero's  brow  divine. 


54 


Song  of  Conundrums. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Wm.  A.  Pond  &  Co.,  Music  Publishers, 
647  Broadway,  New  York,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

Why  is  a  "  school-marm  "  like  unto  an  eye% 

When  she  a  naughty  boy  does  thrash  ? 
'Tis  very  simple,  you  can  surely  see 

The  pupil  is  put  under  the  lash. 
And  to  what  color  does  it  change  the  boy 

Who  so  unfortunate  has  been  ? 
It  makes  him  yell  oh  /  and  1  think  you'll  say, 

The  reason  is  plainly  to  be  seem 

CHORUS, 

Look  sharp !  give  your  attention, 

Catch  the  jokes  as  they  come  in ; 
For  "  a  little  bit  of  nonsense  every  now  and  then 

Is  relished  by  the  best  of  men." 

Why  do  the  ladies  love  the  winter  winds, 

Which  bring  the  biting  frost  that  nips  ? 
Pray  do  not  blush  now,  for  the  reason  why, 

Is  'cause  it  brings  chaps  unto  the  lips. 
And  when  they  get  them,  tell  me  why  they're  like 

A  steamer,  which  o'er  the  ocean  sails  ? 
If  I  must  tell  you,  they  scatter  many  spark8y 

And  surely  they  transport  all  the  males.  (Chorus.) 

If  you  should  wish  to  make  thin  babies  fat, 

As  fresh-churned  butter  in  the  lump, 
Pitched  out  the  window,  you  will  always  find, 

That  they  are  sure  to  come  down  plump. 
Why  is  a  bridegroom  worth  more  than  a  bride  ? 

The  reason  is  veiy  easy  told, 
Brides  are  worth  nothing,  they're  always  gam  away, 

And  bridegrooms  are  almost  always  sold.    (Cho.) 


55 


Why  does  a  chicken,  when  it's  taking  roost, 

Up  on  the  top  board  of  a  fence, 
Bear  great  resemblance  to  a  silver  dime, 

Or  one  of  our  good  old  copper  cents  ? 
Surely  the  reason  some  of  you  must  know, 

For  if  the  papers  you  have  read, 
You  surely  saw  it  that  the  reason  why, 

Is  one  side  is  tail,  the  other  head.     (Chorus.) 


Kiss  me  while  I'm  Dreaming. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publish- 
ers, 277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

As  I  rest  upon  my  pillow, 

Casting  every  care  away, 
And  in  fancy  you  are  near  me, 

Turning  all  the  night  to  day ; 
Then  in  dreams  thy  sweet  voice  cheers  me, 

And  I  sit  by  thee  once  more, 
And  thy  eyes  smile  sweet  upon  me, 
As  they  oft  hare  done  before. 
Chorus — I  am  happy  thus  to  slumber, 

While  such  sweet  dreams  come  to  me, 
Kiss  me,  sister,  while  I'm  dreaming, 
Let  me  dream  again  of  thee. 

When  I  revel  in  sweet  fancies, 

Such  as  dreams  of  angels  are, 
And  thy  sweet  face  beams  upon  me, 

Like  the  ruddy  evening  star, 
There  are  scenes  all  bright  and  golden, 

Visions  rarest  in  thy  train, 
Ever  sweetest  music  chanting, 

Mimic  pageants  of  the  brain.    (Chorus.) 


56 


Told  in  the  Twilight. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Mnsic  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Long  ago,   adown   the  gloaming,  'neath  the  bloom- 
ing linden  tree, 
Where  the  mill-brook  rippled  o'er  the  pebbles  white, 
And  the  mocking-bird  was  singing  with  a  gush  of 
melody, 
Floating  softly  on  the  mild  midsummer  night. 
It  was  there  we  sat  together,  weaving  fancy's  pleas- 
ing spells, 
'Neath  the  linden  in  a  snug,  sequestered  nook, 
And  my  faint  heart  seemed  to  whisper,  that  the  tale 
I  had  to  tell, 
Must  be  told  down  in  the  twilight  by  the  brook. 
Chorus — Told  in  the  twilight,  long  ago, 
Told  in  the  twilight,  long  ago, 
And  my  memory  loves  to  linger  o'er  the 

tale  I  there  did  tell, 
In  the  twilight  by  the  millbrook  in  the  dell. 

How  her  tender  eyes  of  hazel  shone  with  love's  clear 
holy  light, 
And  the  crimson  flush  o'erspread  her  neck  so  fair, 
As  I  whispered  low  my  love- vows,  on  that  mild  mid- 
summer night, 
Smoothing  back  the  ripples  of  her  nut-brown  hair ; 
The  warble  of  the  mocking-bird  seemed  sweeter  still 
to  me, 
And  a  gladsome  sunlight  o'er  my  spirits  fell, 
As  my  darling  faltered  il  yes "   'neath  the  blooming 
linden  tree, 
In  the  twilight  by  the  mill-brook  in  the  dell.  (Cho.) 


57 


Trip  Lightly. 


Trip  lightly  over  trouble, 

Trip  lightly  over  wrong ; 
We  only  make  grief  double 

By  dwelling  on  it  long. 
Why  clasp  woe's  hand  so  tightly  ? 

Why  sigh  o'er  blossoms  dead  ? 
Why  cling  to  forms  unsightly  ? 

Why  not  seek  joy  instead  ? 

CHORUS. 

Trip  lightly,  trip  lightly,  trip  lightly  over  trouble, 
Trip  lightly,  trip  lightly,  trip  lightly  over  wrong ; 

Trip  lightly,  trip  lightly,  we  only  make  grief  double 
By  dwelling  on  it  long. 

Trip  lightly  over  sorrow, 

Though  all  the  days  be  dark, 
The  sun  may  shine  to-morrow, 

And  gayly  sing  the  lark ; 
Fair  hope  has  not  departed, 

Though  roses  may  have  fled, 
Then  never  be  down-hearted, 

But  look  for  joy  instead.       (Chorus.) 

Trip  lightly  over  sadness, 

Stand  not  to  rail  at  doom, 
We've  pearls  to  string  of  gladness, 

On  this  side  of  the  tomb. 
While  stars  are  nightly  shining, 

And  heaven  is  overhead, 
Encourage  not  repining, 

But  look  for  joy  instead.       (Chorus.) 


58 


Merry  Marriage  Bells. 

Copied  by  permission  of  H.  M.  Higgins,  Music  Publishers,  117 
Randolph  St.,  Chicago,  owners  of  the  copyright.. 

I  love  the  joyous  music 

Of  the  merry  marriage  bells, 
That  are  ringing  over  mountains, 

That  are  singing  in  the  dells ; 
Oh !  how  sweet  the  song  that's  pealing, 
And  the  woods  that  are  revealing 
Yows  that  lips  of  love  are  sealing, 

By  the  merry  marriage  bells. 

CHORUS. 

Oh !  the  bells,  the  bells,  the  merry,  merry  bells, 

The  merry  marriage  bells ; 

I  love  the  joyous  music 

Of  the  merry  marriage  bells, 

I  love  the  shouts  of  laughter 

From  the  children  out  of  school — 

Gay  as  birdlings  in  the  forest, 

Free  from  book  and  slate  and  rule ; 

Oh  !  the  woods,  the  woods  are  ringing 

With  the  melody  of  singing, 

Till  my  heart,  my  heart  is  clinging 
To  the  children  out  of  schooL 

I  love  the  scented  clover 

That  is  blooming  on  the  farm, 
With  the  flowers  hanging  over 
In  a  kind  of  mystic  charm ; 
And  I  watch  the  reapers  mowing, 
When  the  summer  wind  is  blowing, 
Where  the  ripened  clover's  growing, 
In  the  meadow  on  the  farm. 


59 


I  love  the  jolly  farmer 

And  his  charming  daughter  Kate — 
She  is  coming  to  the  meadow, 

She  is  at  the  open  gate ; 
So  I  watch  the  bees  that  hover, 
On  the  heaps  of  new-mown  clover, 
And  I  tell  her  that  I  love  her — 

Love  the  farmer's  daughter,  Kate. 

CHORUS. 

Oh  !  the  bells,  the  bells,  the  merry,  merry  bells, 

The  merry  marriage  bells ; 
I  love  the  joyous  music 

Of  the  merry  marriage  bells. 


Shylie  Bawn. 

Shylie  Bawn  !  my  mountain  maid  ! 

"When  roaming  far  away  from  thee, 
On  purple  heath,  or  pathless  glade, 

Thy  lovely  smile  comes  back  to  me  ; 
I  see  thee  'mid  the  blooming  flowers 

That  spring  to  kiss  thy  fairy  feet, 
"While  fancy  wakes  in  lonely  bowers, 

The  echoes  of  thy  voice  so  sweet ! 
Chobus — Shylie  Bawn  !  Shylie  Bawn  ! 

The  echoes  of  thy  voice  so  sweet 
Shylie  Bawn  !  when  sunbeams  fade, 

And  evening  shadows  round  me  fall, 
I  seek  some  lowly  cabin's  shade 

Or  tune  my  harp  in  castle  hall ; 
Oh !  then  thy  darling  image  brings 

The  spell  that  wakes  its  sweetest  lays, 
"While  fluttering  o'er  the  bounding  strings, 

Love  whispers  tales  of  happy  days.    (Cho.) 


60 

Tohn  Schmidt. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Oliver  Ditson  &  Co.,  Music  Publish- 
ers, 277  Washington  St.,  Boston,  owners  of  the  copyright. 

I've  a  tollar  vot  I  spend, 

But  I've  nothing  for  to  lend, 

For  I  never  borrows  noting,  don't  you  see,  Yohn 

Schmidt ; 

I've  a  preddy  liddle  frow, 

Un  I've  vriends  in  blenty  now, 

Un   a   lot   of  preddy  shildren   at  mine  knee,  Yohn 

Schmidt ; 

I  haf  noting  to  desire, 

Yen  I  sit  peside  mine  vire, 

Un  I  schmoke  myself  into  a  shleeping  state,  Yohn 

Schmidt ; 

I'm  so  happy  vot  can  be, 

So  you  listen  now  to  me, 

Un   I'll  dell  you   vot  I  love,  un  vot  I  hate  Yohn 

Schmidt. 

I  love  der  lager  bier, 

Yen  it's  good  un  isn't  dear, 
I  can  trink  'pout  sixty  glasses  in  a  day,  Yohn  Schmidt ; 

But  I  hate  der  liquor-law, 

Sooch  a  ding  I  neffer  saw, 
Yot  would  dake  our  schnapps  un  lager  all  away,  Yohn 
Schmidt ; 

I  love  a  Deutschen  song, 

'Pout  a  hundred  verses  long, 
Mit  a  ghorus  for  a  t'ousand  voices,  too,  Yohn  Schmidt ; 

But  I  hate  der  snuffle  psalm, 

Yot  isn't  worth  a  kreutzer, 
For  to  sing  it  makes  your  vace  grow  long  and  plue, 
Yohn  Schmidt. 


61 


I  love  some  Deutschen  food., 
Yaw  !  I  likes  it  butty  good, 
Der  spech,   un    6auerkrout,   un    salat   slaugh,   Yohn 
Schmidt ; 

But  I  hate  der  milk  of  schwill, 
Un  der  meat  they  nefer  kill, 
For  it  dies  pefore  dey've  time  to  hit  a  knock,  Yohn 
Schmidt ; 

I  love  der  bretty  flowers 
Vot  grows  in  garten  bowers, 
Der    cabbage,   un  der   radeesh,  un    der  beet,  Yohn 
Schmidt ; 

Un  I  hate  der  toads  un  frogs. 
Un  der  sausage  made  of  dogs, 
Un    efery    ding    vot     isn't    good     to     eat,    Yohn 
Schmidt, 


Now  I've  got  a  little  shtore, 
Un  I  sits  pefore  der  door, 
Un  I  sells  der  prandy  schnapps  un  pretzel  cake,  Yohn 
Schmidt ; 

Un  I  dinks  I'll  butty  soon 
Haf  a  lagerbier  saloon, 
Un    den  vot    plenty    money    I    will    make,    Yohn 
Schmidt ; 

Un  ven  enough  I've  got, 
I  vill  buy  a  "  house  un  lot," 
Un    a    "  corner    grocery "    I'll    haf    peside,    Yohn 
Schmidt ; 

Den  so  happy  I  vill  be, 
Mit  mine  schildren  by  mine  knee, 
Mit  mine  money,  un   mine   frow,  but   mit  no  pride, 
Yohn  Schmidt. 


62 


My  Bonnie  Boat. 


Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

My  boat  is  called  "  Bonnie,"  the  Queen  of  the  Sea  ! 

She's  fashioned  so  gayly,  so  trim  and  so  light; 
And  the  sails  are  all  spread,  and  I'm  waiting  for  thee, 

Dear  maiden,  whose* dark  eyes  with  love  beam  so 
bright. 

CHOKUS. 

Then  come  in  my  bonnie  boat,  down  by  the  sea, 
For  fresh  blows  the  breezes  and  fair  is  the  tide, 

And  my  haip  is  in  tune,  and  I'll  strike  it  for  thee, 
While  over  the  blue  rolling  billows  we  glide. 

Now  over  the  mountains  the  eagle  soars  high, 
The  petrel  is  crying,  the  groves  are  in  song ; 
And  the  grand  harp  of  Nature,  the  wind  through  the 

«ky, 
Is  rolling  an  anthem  of  glory  along.      (Chorus.) 

A  mermaid  is  singing,  and  combing  her  hair, 
To  welcome  her  lover  with  coral  lips  bright, 

And  the  sea-birds  are  flapping  their  broad  wings  in  air, 
The  glad  bounding  billows  are  rolling  in  light. 

The  morn,  high  in  heaven,  is  queen  of  the  tide, 
My  heart,  like  the  ocean,  is  setting  to  thee, 

While  the  billows  are  rocking  my  boat's  sides, 
The  zephyrs  are  wafting  love's  incense  to  me. 

CHORUS. 

Then  come  in  my  bonnie  boat,  down  by  the  sea, 
For  fresh  blows  the  breezes,  and  fair  is  the  tide ; 

And  my  harp  is  in  tune,  and  I'll  strike  it  for  thee, 
While  over  the  bine  rolling  billows  we  glide. 


63 


The  Little  Blue-eyed  Boy. 

Like  a  sunbeam  warm  and  bright, 

A  soft  ray  of  golden  light, 
Dancing  round  us  is  the  little  blue-eyed  boy ; 

Still  so  full  of  childish  glee, 

And  as  merry  as  a  bee, 
His  life  is  rich  in  innocence  and  joy. 

At  the  pleasant  hour  of  morn, 

When  on  gentle  breezes  borne, 
Fragrant  odors  float  around  us  light  and  free  : 

With  a  smile  so  soft  and  sweet 

Then  his  little  form  we  greet, 
Lovely  as  the  daisy  on  the  grassy  lea. 
Chorus — Like  a  sunbeam  warm  and  bright, 

A  soft  ray  of  golden  light, 
Dancing  round  us  is  the  little  blue-eyed  boy. 


Blessings  fall  upon  his  brow, 
Pure  and  taintless  as  the  snow, 

And  dark  sorrow  come  but  lightly  on  his  way  j 
Oh !   we  never  see  his  face 
But  some  memory  we  can  trace, 

Some  sweet  hour  of  childhood  from  the  early  day. 
As  we  wander  on  through  life, 
And  we  mingle  in  its-  strife, 

We  seldom  meet  with  joy  without  alloy; 
Yet,  oh  !  may  his  path  be  bright, 
And  his  footsteps  gay  and  light, 

And  may  heaven  bless  the  little  blue-eyed  boy. 
Chorus — Like  a  sunbeam  warm  and  bright, 
A  soft  ray  of  golden  light, 

Dancing  round  us  is  the  little  blue-eyed  boy. 


64 

Don't  Many  a  Man  if  he  Drinks. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Horace  Waters,  Music  Publisher,  481 
Broadway,  New  York,  owner  of  the  copyright. 

Young  ladies,  pray  listen  to  me, 

And  keep  just  as  quiet  as  mice, 
While  I  sing  you  a  song,  it  is  not  very  long, 

Which  contains  quite  a  piece  of  advice. 
No  matter  what  people  may  say ; 

No  matter  what  somebody  thinks  ; 
If  you  wish  to  be  happy  the  rest  of  your  days, 

Don't  marry  a  man  if  he  drinks. 

He  may  be  so  handsome  and  gay, 

And  have  such  a  beautiful  voice ; 
And  may  dance  so  divinely,  you'll  feel  in  your  heart, 

That  he  must  be  the  man  of  your  choice. 
If  his  accents  are  tender  and  low, 

And  sweeter  than  roses  and  pinks, 
And  his  breath  quite  a  different  thing,  you  may  know 

Your  exquisite  gentleman  drinks. 


THE  END. 


